Lament
by Kimmae
Summary: On her hopeless search for her father, the Lone Wanderer from Vault 101 met someone who would change her life forever. Little did she know that she had moved him as well, despite appearances. A not so fluffy tale of a Lone Wanderer and Charon.
1. A Star in the Wastes

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

_So, once again, I know there's been a lot of stories based on this subject, but... what can I say? I'm a Fallout fanfic fanatic (say that ten times fast). In the inexplicable event that you clicked on this story, I do hope you enjoy it, at least a little bit. This story will take a different route from Fallout 3, so it won't be quite as monotonous as my last Fallout fic. Do enjoy!_

Lament

Chapter One: A Star in the Wastes

I was raised not to have opinions, not to speak or act on anything other than my orders from the one who held my contract, and that is how I lived my life. There is no way around it; I am a servant to my master, and whoever may hold that contract holds my existence. Don't get me wrong; I have a personality underneath it all, I have thoughts—I hate that motherfucker of a ghoul Ahzrukhal, but as long as he has that paper in his hands, my mind can't respond in any other way than protection or loyalty to him. I hate it, and fuck if I'll ever accept it. On the outside, I'm some sort of mindless drone that responds to anything Ahzrukhal demands and tells everyone else to fuck off, but I do have a mind of my own, somewhere in my head. I said that I was raised not to have any opinions, but that was only _voiced_ opinions. When I saw that kid for the first time, I had some opinions about her.

When she entered the Ninth Circle, she brought along this air of independence and attitude, like she was someone who didn't take shit from anybody. Obviously, I didn't take to that; I rarely took to anybody, especially a smoothskin. Who the hell did she think she was, wandering into Underworld? It was a city run by ghouls, inhabited only by ghouls. How the fuck did she make it in the front door without getting chased out with pitch forks and torches? Must've had a way with words, that one. I eyed her warily. Along with her no-nonsense aura, she had a striking appearance. Everyone in the bar turned to her. I swear, something like her couldn't be natural. She had this head of long, silvery blonde hair, almost as if it were white, kind of like a ghoul's hair if it used to be yellow. You'd think that it'd give her a delicate look, but as she stalked across the floor, I saw her shark-like eyes scanning the room. They were pitch black, menacing, even intimidating to the weak willed and fragile hearted. To top it all off, she was wearing this ridiculous vault suit, dirtied and torn. Fuck, fresh meat. She wouldn't last, even with the balls she seemed to have.

Her eyes landed on me, but she didn't give so much as a double take before she sat at the bar. I found that awfully bold, too; most ghouls cowered every day when they saw me standing in the corner of the bar, watching over Ahzrukhal and his miserable hide. If my orders weren't to stay put and leave the customers alone, I woulda torn her a fresh one, scared her off out of my city. Every second I watched her, I grew more agitated; I wanted her the fuck outta Underworld, but there was no way I could do that. I was hoping the asshole, Ahzrukhal, would do it himself, but he encouraged her, fucking _encouraged _her, chattin' her up for all she was worth.

"Ah, ghoul, human, I don't care," Ahzrukhal wheezed, "the caps all spend the same."

"I'm glad we've established that," the kid replied. Her voice was smooth, but real fuckin' cold. "Now, please pass the wine."

"Certainly, ma'am," he tried to reply smoothly (but like every ghoul, it came out like a growl) and he grabbed a bottle from the lower shelf behind him, placing it in front of the girl. "That will be twenty five caps."

"I'm not interested in starting any confrontations," the kid replied, popping out the cork and taking a sip of wine from the bottle. Not very lady like, but Ahzrukhal didn't exactly give her a glass, either. "You have the caps in your hand, sir."

"My dear girl, I am afraid you have not paid for your beverage," he said, his voice sighing out from him like a perpetually dying animal. Of course the kid paid him, I saw her put the caps down and his greasy hand swipe it up, but my hand reached for my shotgun as I approached the bar, ready to kick the kid out. As much as I wanted the smoothskin out of the city, part of me kind of took to her, I guess. Now fuck off if you've think I've gone soft; I just appreciated the kid's reserve is all. I stepped up behind her, nudging her shoulder with the barrel of my gun.

"Pay."

She looked up over her shoulder at me, and I don't know if she was intentionally trying to intimidate me, but I found her expression hilarious nonetheless. It was blank, but those black eyes were just burning with rage. Something had pissed in her Sugar Bombs, that was for sure.

The kid was a hard ass, but she was smart; she pulled another handful of caps from her pocket, counted them, then placed them on the counter rather gently, considering her circumstances. "Thank you, madame."

She didn't answer the slick bastard, but instead she took another swig of wine. "It's quite good here," she said, holding out the bottle and reading the label. Fuck, she was cheeky.

Ahzrukhal waved me away (the motherfucker), and I turned back to my corner, refitting my shotgun on my back. "I'm glad you take to it, my dear. It's a 2075, very well aged, if I do say so myself."

"Very."

"So, my dear girl," Ahzrukhal said, that familiar tone of plotting and sick intention seeping into his voice, "what brings your business into Underworld?"

"I'm looking for my father."

If I didn't have the orders to keep silent, I would have scoffed. What made her think she'd find another smoothskin running around down here? It was crazy enough that she was allowed in, but two? Fucking brat. In any case, Ahzrukhal found this amusing, too, for he chuckled his awful, grinding chuckle.

"And to what do you owe your belief that your father would be here?"

"I've been checking every place," she replied smoothly, tipping the bottle back down her throat again. It was only wine, but she was turning out to be some sort of hard drinker.

"I have to be quite honest with you, child," Ahzrukhal started, touching his fingertips together, "if your father is still human, he would not be here, let alone ever come across this place. Thus, I have to say, I am quite confounded as to how you chanced upon this city, and how you have made your stay here without rising a disturbance." So was I, so I kept listening out of interest.

"I'm quite civil," she started, "and it couldn't hurt to look everywhere."

"Oh, but it can," he replied.

"If I'm that much of a disturbance," the kid said, rising off of her stool, "I'll take my caps elsewhere."

"I meant no offence, my dear," I could hear that familiar tone in his voice that he used when he was trying to save a sale, "I was only curious. Please, sit."

The kid looked at the seat, then took another sip of her wine. "Not if your body guard is going to listen in on every word we utter," she said bluntly. Well, she was perceptive, I'd give her that. She placed the half empty bottle on the counter a little less than gently, and motioned to it with distaste. "It's a Sauvignon Blanc, and it tastes like vinegary grass. Have a nice day."

She breezed past me, and didn't so much as make eye contact with anyone as she pushed past the door, her icy demeanor hanging in the air. Well, I'm not a poet or anything, but that's the only way I could describe it. The bitch was cold, but she wasn't evil, not like Ahzrukhal. I kept my composure stoic and expressionless as he looked to me—not that I could do otherwise—and he brushed a hand over his wispy hair, putting the small confrontation aside. I'd like to say that I was unmoved by the whole thing, but that little scene was damn well unique; a pale, fair haired girl—_smoothskin_ girl—with a dark and strong defence riling up Ahzrukhal's feathers. Oh yeah, I was amused, if not just a tad bit impressed. But she was out of the bar, and I was starting to feel just a bit better, just a bit more at ease, but that wasn't the last I saw of her. Yeah, that kid and I were going to have a future together. Even after all this time, I still regret that I never got her name.

* * *

The moment I stepped into the Wastes, I knew I had met my maker. I was raised in the shelter of the Vault for so long, that facing potential danger around every bend and every slope was simply too much for me. I had a few close calls, but with time, I got used to it. I got used to everything so much that I suppose I became numb. I didn't care if people helped me or not (considering they rarely did help me) and I didn't care if people were saved or hurt because of my actions. I may have cared once upon a time, but I was just so tired—I belonged nowhere now, not in the Vault, and certainly nowhere in the Wasteland, so the only thing I had left was to find my father. Wherever he was was the only place I had left.

At first, I was angry for him leaving me behind in the Vault. I felt incompetent somehow, as if I was only a hindrance to whatever grand scheme he had out there. Perhaps I was, but that thought was what stung the most. When I left the Vault, I knew I was breaking the last bit of protection he had intended to leave for me, but I couldn't stay behind; prosecution and hate was all that was left for me there, and I did not intend to go back. Even if I could, I probably wouldn't. I longed for comfort, for safety, I longed to know that Amata would be right there for me, but I knew that there was no going back. I could try to make it work again, but I was doomed to the Wastes for the rest of my life. Part of me felt comforted at this, while another part of me felt hindered. What was left for me in life? The thought of never finding my father would haunt me sometimes, but I would try to suppress it, I would try to tell myself that he had to be alive out there somewhere. Finding him, however, had proven more difficult than I could have imagined.

I honestly believed that I could walk into Megaton and ask for a helping hand and receive it without a moment's hesitation. I thought that things could go as smoothly as I had planned. When I had finally found a man in the expansive settlement who had last seen my father, he steadfastly refused to give me the information for free. "If you run a little errand for me outside of town, there might be some information waiting for you." When I found out his errand was murder, I turned away. There were others who had seen him, but no one dared told me anything. I didn't fully blame them, but I felt cheated somehow, as if being good at heart truly saved no mercy for anyone. After that, I left Megaton behind, and began searching for my father the hardest way possible; I scoured each and every crevasse of the Wasteland, searching for his whereabouts desperately. If my father was only half a day ahead of me, I would surely find him in due time. But as they days steadily increased, the further and further away he got from me, and I knew my chances of ever seeing him again thinned by the moment. It was all that I could hope for that I retained my strong will to reunite with him; it was all that kept me going everyday, and finding him was all that would ever keep me whole, sane, alive. When the day came that I chanced upon Underworld, my future was inevitably altered.

I nearly stormed from the bar, but I kept my composure cool and collected as I traveled down the hall to Carol's Inn. I had visited her earlier in the day, and she offered me her life story from before the war in 2077. Unfortunately, she had no information of my father, the man named James from Vault 101. I felt a little defeated, but I suppose I couldn't have expected anything more than that. I did learn everything there was to know about ghouls and how they functioned, however, and I was careful with this information. The fact that ghouls were vehemently opposed by humans, and they themselves had qualms of their unfortunate transformation, I was wary of how I regarded Carol after that. I wasn't sure if she'd turn on me, or if she would treat me with the same kindness after enlightening me on her past and her condition. However, she still seemed to confront me with a certain liking, for when I stepped into her establishment, she smiled at me kindly from behind her desk.

"Oh, how lovely it is to see you again!" Carol chimed in her scratchy voice as I walked through the door, "are you looking to rent a room for the night, perhaps?"

"Yes," I replied, placing my hands on the counter, slightly spread apart; I did this to show that I meant business, and that I wasn't going to be uncouth about it. "But first, I was wondering... the tall ghoul in the Ninth Circle," I shifted by eyes to look curious, but not imposing, "who is he?"

"Oh, you must mean Charon," Carol said, shaking her head and widening her eyes momentarily before blinking the look of fear away. "He's Ahzrukhal's personal bodyguard; he's been here for, oh... quite a few years now. He's very loyal to Ahzrukhal, but not by choice."

"Not by choice?" I echoed, "why is that exactly?"

"It's a horrible story, really," Carol replied sadly, opening her cash register and digging out a handful of caps. She started to count them on the counter absentmindedly in front of me; either this was a show of trust, or she wanted to distract herself as she recounted the tale. "story goes that when he was a boy, he was brainwashed into serving anyone who held his contract. Blindly, not to mention. Whatever his contract holder commands, he does.

"The poor fellow," she continued, dumping the caps back into the register and scooping out another handful, "who knows for how many years he's been living his life for other people. Just a constant cycle of slavery for him."

I pondered this, shifting my weight on my feet. "How is it that he ended up here with Ahzrukhal?"

"Oh, nobody knows that but those two," Carol said, waving a hand through the air and shaking her head slightly, "for all I know, Charon could've accidentally blundered into one of Azhrukhal's greasy traps. Poor boy," she repeated again.

"So, he's strictly forbidden to do anything other than what his employer dictates?"

"In a nutshell, yes," Carol said. "I'm not sure if the man's completely brainwashed, or if he really feels hate and distaste for each and every one of us. He doesn't talk to anyone other than Ahzrukhal, so there's no real way of telling."

So, either he was your greatest enemy, or the most useful asset in a battle. "Ahzrukhal is virtually untouchable, then."

"Yes, unless you could stomach standing up to Charon."

For a brief moment, the idea of bartering for Charon's contract crossed my mind, but I put the thought aside. I had worked alone in the Wasteland for the last few weeks, and I had gotten by. There were a few close calls, but I pulled through. If I bought Charon's contract to be my personal guard, I would inevitably become a slaver. I may not have been a saint, but I was not ill hearted, I would never lower myself to commanding over another. Even so, was it better just to leave him in the hands of Ahzrukhal for the rest of his life?

"Actually, I was thinking... I have a favour to ask of you," Carol started timidly, changing the subject.

I straightened, looking back at her. I wasn't keen on doing people favours; no one seemed to want to do me one by helping me find my father. But I could see the unease in the way Carol fidgeted, her sharp red eyes darting from side to side. She was nervous. I did not cut her off, nor egg her on, I simply waited for her to continue.

"About Gob..." she started, her words faltering. Ah, yes, the ghoul she loved like a son. When I first met Carol, I couldn't help but ask her if she was the Carol who knew the ill fated bartender back in Megaton. When she heard that I had met Gob, she was so delighted—she bogged me with a flurry of questions, and I tried to answer them the best I could. I honestly didn't converse with him all too much while I was there; he was unwilling to share information on my father with me, so I moved on without so much as a second glance. However, in passing conversation, I heard that Gob was bought by the owner of the saloon by slavers, and Gob was perpetually stuck there. The moment I told Carol this, she seemed broken hearted, but she had held her composure well. I'm sure that on the inside, she was simply falling apart. I nodded, trying to show a bit of sympathy in my actions, but I'm not sure if they were noticeable.

"I was hoping... I know this is so much to ask of you, I know you're trying to look for your father, but... could you bring my son home? I know it would be dangerous, taking him away from his master, but I... after you told me what happened to him, I don't think I could bear it day to day knowing he's unhappy."

My automatic response would have been "no," but I stopped myself before I spoke. There was something in Carol's voice that reached out to me; I couldn't place it right away, but I think I connected with the woman on a new level when she nearly begged me to help save her son. I was a daughter, roaming the Wastes in an endless search to find my father, only praying that I would see him again. Essentially, I was a Vault dweller out for her own interests, and I steadfastly refused to do everyone's dirty work to find information of my father's whereabouts. I think I was afraid of the guilt, afraid of the blood stained hands, but most of all, I was worried about how it would change me; if I did all those things, would I be the same daughter that my father had left behind to protect in the Vault? Carol was a mother who had no likely way of seeing her own son again, each bound by their livelihood and their fate. We were the same.

I thought on this for a moment, and then I nodded. "I'll help you get Gob back. But," I interjected quickly, just as her eyes lit up, "his master, Moriarty, won't let him go until his room and board are paid off. If you want me to get Gob out of there safely, I'm going to need a lot of caps."

"Oh, my dear, of course!" Carol nearly sang, her entire form absolutely radiant with joy, "I'm willing to give you my life savings for him! Please, if you think you can do this for me, I'll never forget it."

"Of course," I said, surprising myself. All the other favours and ill deeds I turned down would have been to earn the commodity of my father's location, while this favour was in no way beneficial to my quest. I think that I accepted Carol's request so easily because I could understand her pain, understand her misfortune. I realized that I really was selfish, wishing that others would just help me out because I was in need, but I suppose it was really me who was being unaccommodating. Everyone needed a hand, I wasn't the only helpless one out there.

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" Carol said, reaching across the counter and grasping either side of my face. Her hands were so hot, and her skin scraped against me where she touched my cheeks, but I did not pull away. The simple gesture pulled at my heart, like I was remembering what it was like to feel happy and contented again.

"I have no idea how much it will cost you to bail out Gob, but I'll give you all my savings, just to be safe. This might not even cover it, but... I trust you. You're not bad for a human, and I know I can count on you."

Why was I doing this? I needed to find my father. I didn't even know if he was still alive. Well, at the rate I was going, I wasn't going to find him at any moment soon. Perhaps I had to rely on sheer luck to stumble across the information. Maybe, just maybe, I was doing this to feel human again. I felt like I had shut off the world, like I had become so cold so fast. If I could help a mother and son find each other again, maybe I could feel like I had found what I was looking for.

Carol dipped down behind the counter, placing suitcase after suitcase down on the table in front of her. "There's... two thousand... caps in each... of these," she said as she placed each one down. There were four of them. I felt impressed; she must have had quite the business to be saving so many caps on the side. Carol stood straight, absolutely beaming. I could see the exposed muscle in her face contracting as she brandished her rotten teeth in a smile. She was a kind hearted woman, and she most obviously had an affect on me, if she so easily convinced me to help Gob. I suppose if I had taken the time to slow down and get to know the unfortunate bartender of Moriarty's saloon, I would have been convinced, too. Maybe, after all, all I needed to do was to put my own interests on hold while I helped others in need within my capabilities, perhaps that would return me to a state of normality. My father would have to wait.

"Oh, it's getting late, you'd better stay for the night. I won't charge you, of course, and there'll be a free meal in it for you."

"Thank you, Carol," I said, picking up the suitcases and programming them as data inside my Pip-Boy, "it would be appreciated."

I thought nothing of the day's events, but nothing was to go as planned. Nothing ever does, though, does it? It's like a water drop landing on the back of your hand; there's no way to tell which way it will go after it falls. I suppose it's this factor which makes life more beautiful, for everything is unpredictable, but my fate and Charon's weren't going to slide off onto the beautiful side of the hand. But, if I could go back and relive those moments, I wouldn't change a thing.


	2. Hired Help

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Two: Hired Help

"Hey, Ahzrukhal," Nurse Graves screeched as she burst into the Ninth Circle. Everyone's attention was drawn from their beers and whiskeys, watching the woman with bloodied overalls clamber up to the bar and lean in towards the dirty bastard. "We need help getting an injured civilian to the Chop Shop, could you get Charon to come with us outside?"

Ah, fucking hell. Yes, I was an instrument for Ahzrukhal's use, much as I hated to admit it, but man, did it piss me right off when people talked about me while I was there, like I was some sort of guard dog that couldn't tell my ass from my head. I didn't have a grudge against anyone in Underworld other than Ahzrukhal, but I wasn't exactly everyone's best buddy, either. I rarely saw Nurse Graves or Doctor Barrows, but when she came in yelling like a god damned banshee like that to _use_ me, I felt my cage rattle.

"Mm, I would like to," Ahzrukhal replied coyly, running his thumb and forefinger over his god-awfully broad chin, "but I can't spare Charon for a moment, you see; he is my only protection. If he were to be gone just when a thug attempted to take from my establishment, what would become of me?"

"You fucking slime ball," Graves muttered, leaning in close, "don't forget where your source of ultra jet comes from, Ahzrukhal."

She had said it at a volume that suggested she wanted to be discreet about it, but everyone in the bar had paused to listen in, so everyone heard the threat. The crooked smile faded off of Ahzrukhal's face, and he dropped his hand from his chin. "Very well. Charon, accompany Nurse Graves and assist her until she dismisses you, then return here."

"Yes, Ahzrukhal," _you lousy son of a bitch._

Graves turned from the bar, looking up at me and waving her hand to get me to follow her. Again, with the animal treatment, Christ. I followed her at a set pace as she jogged from the bar; my legs were longer than hers, and one of my strides covered two of hers, so I kept walking behind her. She ran off down the stairs, bursting through the Underworld exhibit doors, and I kept myself within three strides of her at all times. It's amazing how that small piece of paper works; I didn't even have to see it to have it rule over my life.

Graves led me around the old decrepit reception desk that sat up front, then pushed through the doors to the mall. When we came outside, I didn't spot Willow. She was another ghoul that I barely talked to, but we got along all right, as far as not talking to one another ever went. But besides not seeing Willow, I couldn't see anything. It was overcast, but I hadn't been outdoors for fifteen years, not since Ahzrukhal killed my last master and took my contract. I squinted my eyes and lifted an arm above my head to try and block out the sunlight. As we neared the road, gunshots fired off to the west, near the Washington Monument. Last I'd heard, the Brotherhood of Steel were holed up there.

"Shit! Charon, come on!" Graves yelled over her shoulder, and I picked up the pace to keep up after her. We rounded the corner, and a few yards alongside the wall, Doctor Barrows was slowly dragging a body across the road, while Willow covered him from gunfire. She was crouched, inching along beside Barrows as she fired her assault rifle towards the monument's entrance. Fuck, I hated the Brotherhood. Always thought they were doing some sort of saint's work when they shot us down. Couldn't even help a civilian when he's lying wounded out in the open, right beside a super mutant's nest. Arrogant sacks of shit. We got closer, and Graves patted Barrows on the shoulder, pointing towards me. "Charon, cover us!" Graves called over the sounds of gunfire, and I pulled my shotgun, kneeling down beside Willow.

"Pleasant surprise," she grunted, firing off the last of her magazine before reloading another quickly, "didn't think you'd ever get out of that shit hole of a bar."

I didn't think so either, but I didn't say anything. Wasn't in my orders to talk to anybody. My shotgun wasn't a great long range weapon, but there were a few of those blue armoured bastards slinking around nearby. I found the whole thing odd; not fifteen years ago, I wouldn't have dared fire at another man dressed in Power Armour, not while I was with Schafer. But those restrictions were too easy to wipe once that contract fell into Ahzrukhal's hands.

"Fuck!" Willow shouted, gripping her arm. One of the Knights up ahead had a minigun, and was trying to spray us with five millimeter bullets from behind a huge mound of rubble. She moved her hand, blood gushing like mad. She shook it off pretty quick, apparently, 'cause she just lifted her assault rifle and kept firing. Graves and Barrows were behind us, and I would have asked why the fuck we weren't drawing back inside, but it wasn't within my limits to question them, either.

"Let's make it quick, shall we?" Willow barked, ducking with me as another storm of shots from the minigun ricocheted off the scrap in our cover.

"We have to slow the bleeding, or she'll die by the time we get her inside," Barrows defended hastily. Oh, even better. The Brotherhood left a _woman_ on the street for dead. How fucking honourable. I heard the girl cry out, but it sounded like she tried to stifle it the moment it left her. I didn't get a look at the damage when I passed them; Barrows was dragging her by her armpits with his back to me when we got there, but it sounded like she was in a rough shape.

"Okay, okay, let's go!" Barrows shouted, and I got on both feet as I started to shuffle away next to Willow. We walked backwards, making sure to shield Barrows and Graves, should the soldiers decide to follow us back into the museum. No one seemed to be coming the closer we got, but I could make out the edge of a blue tinted helmet just before a laser went flying past my head. I ducked low, aiming my gun, and Willow stayed high. Was it really so fucking important to them to take us down? Fuck me sideways, if this wasn't annoying. We rounded the corner, just before the escalators to the metro station, and we relaxed our guard a bit. They weren't likely to follow us that far into our territory, and if they did, we had some time to recover.

"I'll keep watch out here, you guys get her inside." Hopefully Willow wasn't directing this towards me, 'cuase I wouldn't have given two shits what she wanted to do. Right now, I could only do what Graves told me to do. I kept backing up, my eyes trained on the corner, waiting for any sort of orders.

"Wait, Graves, put her down," Barrows said. He had the girl by her arms, and Graves had her feet, and I heard them both put her down slowly. The victim moaned in protest when she was put down, but I could hear her try to bog it again. "We can't carry her all the way there that fast. Charon, give us a hand!"

I didn't move. Sure, if I were anyone else, I would've turned around. Then again, if I were my own person, I wouldn't have even agreed to helping them out in the first place. I couldn't do anything until Nurse Graves commanded it.

I could practically hear the rage coming out of Barrows, but Graves spoke up. "Charon, carry the girl to the Chop Shop."

I took my eyes off the corner, put my shotgun on my back, and turned towards the trio. When I got closer, I stepped around Graves, and looked down on the to-be patient. Inside, I was scoffing. It was the same platinum blonde girl with a tough as nails attitude lying on the ground between the two surgeons, and she was covered in blood. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she was writhing on the ground in pain, her hands hovering over a few bullet wounds in her stomach. I fit one of my hands under her neck, and the other under her legs, then I stood up, shifting her weight comfortably between my arms. I followed Barrows and Graves inside. After a couple of steps, her head rolled on my arm, and she coughed up some blood.

"Hurry!" Graves shouted, rushing after Barrows. I quickened my step like she said, but I had no fucking clue as to why she was so important to these two. She was just some smoothskin bitch. Not to mention, how the hell did they find her out there in the first place?

We got back into the Museum of History (thank God, that brightness was getting to me), and we rushed towards the Underworld concourse. A few ghouls gathered as we crossed the marble floor towards the clinic, while blood dripped from the kid's wounds.

"Whoa, what happened to her?"

None of us answered. Everyone's eyes were trained on us as we burst into the Chop Shop, and I stopped at the door, waiting for my next instruction.

"Put her down there," Graves instructed, pointing with a gnarled, skinless finger at one of the empty beds. The sheets were white, but the moment I lowered her onto it, it was immediately stained bright red. She was bleeding a lot. Barrows and Graves came up behind me, his hands full with a scalpel, a pair of tweezers, and some gauze, and hers with stimpaks. "Hold her shoulders, Charon," she said hurriedly, standing on the opposite side of the bed from Barrows. If I had free will, I would've been blowing up in someone's face. Instead, I walked around to the front of the bed, and put my hands firmly down on the kid's shoulders. She muffled another cry, trying to fight against the pressure, but I kept her down. Hovering over her, I got a better look at her injuries. She was just riddled with holes, and only parts of her hair were still white blonde, the rest of it was covered in blood. Her pale face, too, was simply painted red. Her eyes never opened, and her mouth was pursed tight against the pain. She mumbled a little bit through her closed mouth, trying to avoid calling out. Man, she was having a tough time. Graves started to tear apart the suit around her stomach, pushing the material aside. The kid bucked against my hands, muffling a yell; some of the material was caught in her bullet wounds, and it was pulled as Graves yanked away the remains of her clothes. Graves's bony hands pressed down on either side of the kid's stomach, and she tried to push them away, bearing her teeth and growling. With no other choice, Graves grabbed her hands, holding them down. Barrows then grasped the tweezers in his hand, and slowly lowered them towards one of the bullet wounds, aiming to take out the bullet.

As soon as those tweezers touched the hunk of metal in one of her wounds, the kid went ballistic. Her entire body flung around under my hands, and I pressed down harder. Wait, were those within my orders? Whatever, I leaned more of my weight against her, anyway. I could tell she was still trying to keep herself quiet, but her stronghold was falling to pieces fast. Her mouth was drawn back as she kept growling, yelping, and shouting against the pain. Her body jerked around too much, too—Barrows was having a hell of a time trying to get the bullets out. After five minutes of squirming, he finally got one out of her. Great, one down, countless more to go.

"Graves, stimpak," Barrows muttered under his breath as he moved onto the next bullet wound. I couldn't tell exactly, with all the blood and her eyes being perpetually shut, but I think she started crying. It didn't bother me back then, actually, I thought I'd had enough of that bullshit at the time, I thought I'd rather be getting back to Ahzrukhal's ugly mug. Then, she opened her eyes, and she looked right up at me. She was shaking, and her eyes were looking up at me so intently that I felt kind of weirded out. I didn't move away, it wasn't in my orders to, but I felt like the bitch was worming her way into my head, her eyes were so intense. Graves finally found a way to stake the stimpak into the kid's wound, and she screamed—a really loud, pain-filled scream—before her body went slack and her head tilted to the side. Graves and Barrows paused in their work, looking towards her. "She's passed out from shock," Barrows declared, and went back to his work, being able to take out the bullets without her movements to stop him.

"You can go, Charon," Graves said to me, without looking up, before she stuck another stimpak into the kid's midriff. I pulled my hands off her shoulders, and started to walk away, but I had caught myself looking down at her before I left. Through all that blood, she looked—ah, I dunno, _pristine_ might be the best word, but it's not something overly used in my vocabulary—and I felt strange, like I didn't want to leave her there. Orders were orders, and I simply couldn't deny them. But I managed to throw myself for a shitty loop. What the hell was wrong with me? Why was I so shaken up? As I walked away, I couldn't stop thinking about her face, her hard, black eyes.

* * *

When I woke up, my wrist clamped around something thin, bony, and warm. It was hovering around my face, and I didn't have any time to think before my eyes flew wide and I was gripping onto a ghoul's wrist. She had wisps of red hair about her face, and even her dead face looked like it had fear in it. I noticed I was still gripping her, even though I figured out she wasn't a threat, and I let her go, lowering my hand. I was lying on some sort of bed, in a room that smelled—for lack of a better term—like absolute shit.

"You're in Underworld, again," the ghoul told me in her light, melodic, raspy voice, "you've been out for about a day. How are you feeling?"

I checked myself mentally, noticing that I throbbed all over. I lowered my hand to my stomach, touching it gingerly. A hiss came from between my teeth before I could even register the pain. "I think I'll manage," I offered, resting my head flat against the pillow underneath my head. Even that hurt. What had happened?

"You were ambushed by super mutants," the woman explained, lifting the sheet off of me and checking my dressings, "you were in pretty bad shape when we found you."

"How did you find me?" I should have died out there.

"Our sentry, Willow, saw you after you were shot," she explained, putting the sheet back and disappearing from my view. I tried to tilt my head to the side to watch her go, but it hurt. I settled for listening to her talk instead. "She came to get us when she found out she couldn't carry you by herself. By the time we got there, the Brotherhood started taking pot shots at us. That's when I got Charon out to help us fend off the attacks and get you inside."

Charon? The bodyguard under Ahzrukhal's charge? I was going to question as to how she was able to get him to help, let alone how they got him to help a smoothskin, when it occurred to me that I really had no idea as to why they put so much effort into saving me in the first place. "Why am I here?"

"Well, we may look half-dead, but we're not heartless," the ghoul retorted with a scoff, "we weren't going to leave you lying there to be super mutant meal."

I suppose I was wrong about the Wasteland. Not everyone was looking out strictly for themselves, some of them still had the heart to lend a hand, and to me, of all people. I hadn't been the most polite guest to some of the residents, and I wasn't always keen on helping out others myself. I owed them a debt of gratitude. "Thank you."

"Ah, well, we heard you were helping Carol out. She said you were a good kid."

That's right, that's where I was going. Gob. How could I save Gob if I couldn't last five minutes on the outside?

"I'm Nurse Graves, by the way," she said over me, returning with a bottle of water, "Doctor Barrows is the ghoul in charge here."

I was about to prop myself up on my elbows, but the sudden shock of pain that shot through my body kept me still. Nurse Graves slipped her flaky hand under my neck, and helped tilt me upwards. I groaned in pain, but I hid it from her. When she had me at a proper angle, she let the water pour down my throat. I swallowed it, but I spluttered slightly. She lowered me down again, and I made a face. "Is that water irradiated?"

"Unfortunately. Sorry, honey, it's all we've got down here."

That was one of the worst troubles of traversing the Wasteland: radiation. I had read of "Radaways" being commissioned before the war, which worked like an intravenous to clear out the body's radiation, but I hadn't found any. I was starting to believe that there weren't any left; two hundred years of inactive production was enough to exhaust any supply of materials. I wasn't keeping track of the radiation levels in my body, but I knew they were getting too high to be safe.

"You're going to have to stay down here for at least another day," Nurse Graves said simply, carefully poking a stimpak into a vein on my left arm, "it looks like your metabolism works well with stimpaks, but you're going to have to take it easy if you want out of here faster."

"All right." I supposed there wouldn't be any way around it; the more I struggled, the longer I had to stay in that stinking room. To help the time pass, she offered me some powerful anesthetic—powerful as in ghoul grade, which was far more potent than anything a human needed—and I immediately fell unconscious for over three days. Perhaps she jumped the gun a bit. I was lucky she didn't kill me.

"We washed you, fed you, even kept a bedpan under your ass," Nurse Graves joked, making me feel small and useless. I knew it was inevitable, but something about being dependent on someone else to take care of me was demeaning. "And don't worry about your state of health; we didn't run experiments on you in your sleep."

"That's reassuring." I said, but I may have sounded too ungrateful. "Thank you, Nurse Graves. Truly, I'm lucky that you helped."

I sat up since I'd been injured, clutching the sheet to myself. My suit had been cut up in the operation, and there was nothing left of it but scraps. The good nurse was fishing for a set of new clothes for me from a filing cabinet, and in the meantime I got a good look at the room. There was a body draped across the bed across from me; it was the corpse of a feral ghoul. No wonder the room smelt foul.

"Well, here you go, on the house," she said, placing the bundle on my lap. "How about you just make sure you do that favour for Carol to pay us back? It would mean a lot to her, to all of us. Gob was a character, I personally miss him."

I hung my head a little as she turned away. I stepped out from the bed, and began to dress myself. It was a simple traveler's outfit, complete with a hoodie, some fingerless gloves, and some dirtied khakis. "I'm not sure if I can do it by myself," I admitted as I finished putting on the last article of clothing. Luckily, the good doctor salvaged my boots, and I sat back down on the cot to slip them back on.

"Oh, gosh, kid, of course not!" I looked up at her with a knitted brow, and my expression must have looked more offended than I intended it to be, because she looked at me and seemed to recoil. "Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that, I just meant... well... you're just one person. Not a whole lot of people can make it on their own out there, no matter how tough you are. You should hire some help."

Thus, I found myself wandering back into the Ninth Circle. I thought if there was anywhere in Underworld I might find someone willing to accompany all the way to Megaton, he or she would be there. Of course, I wasn't about to spend Carol's money on any hired help; I had plenty of caps of my own, and I was only hoping I had enough for the going rate. When I entered, everyone's head turned toward me, or, at least, everyone I could see. From the looks on their half-rotten faces, I could tell I was the subject of gossip over the last few days. Everyone but Ahzrukhal looked at me. He stood behind the counter, his hands pressed together and his head bowed. It looked like he was in some sort of prayer, but I wasn't about to let that stop me. I walked up to the bar, placing my hands on the counter just as I had done at Carol's, and I simply stared at him for a moment before I spoke. "I'd like to ask you for some information."

Ahzrukhal's eyes opened very slowly, and he tipped his head up towards me even slower. I would have been scared, say if that was my first encounter with a ghoul, but I was a very hard individual to intimidate. His hands lowered, and he seemed to eye me up and down before he replied. "You've recovered."

"Yes, thank you for noticing."

I became aware that the entire bar was once again listening in on my confrontation with Ahzrukhal, but this wasn't enough to stop me, either. There was a moment of silence between us, and I could hear the contempt boiling under his partial skin. Suddenly, he cracked a smile, standing straighter and motioning to me in a friendly gesture. "Of course, my dear," he started, "how might I help you?"

Oh, he hated me, he hated me with a passion. "I was wondering if there were any mercenaries for hire here in Underworld, someone who might consider accompanying me to Megaton."

Nurse Graves was right; I couldn't make it on my own in the Wastes. I had been lucky for the first month, but luck was not a guaranteed factor in surviving against all odds. I had met my match within thirty seconds of departing from the Museum of History, and I needed someone with me who knew what he was doing out in the world. Besides, a bodyguard might have a certain "negotiating" effect on any bargaining she might have to do with Moriarty when she got there. When I put forth this offer, though, I could see something flash behind Ahzrukhal's eyes. He was plotting, and so I was strengthening my guard.

"Well, you could always request services from Quinn, although he might be out trading with the caravans somewhere in the Wastes at present. Willow might also be of service, although she has been with us for years, and there's little chance she would be leaving us now."

When he didn't continue, the thought _what about Charon?_ came to my mind, but I didn't voice it, not right away. At that moment, I became aware of the tugging feeling in the back of my mind to look over at him. It had nearly escaped me that he had helped save me a few days before, but I knew that it was strictly under orders. How the Doctor and Nurse had managed to negotiate those orders, I wasn't sure. I never did find out, but I suppose it wasn't relevant at any point in time. I turned my head over my shoulder slowly, and looked over the tall bouncer. Of course, his eyes were boring into my back, and they flickered to my eyes when I glanced at him. His face was mean, like he was trying to put me off, but I held the glance for a little while. That small notion came back into my mind, that idea to negotiate for his contract. He would be guaranteed to be the most loyal companion I could have, but the fact that it would be slavery put me off slightly. Did I have any other choice at this point? Ahzrukhal certainly wasn't offering me any other options, not that I should have been trusting the bastard for truthful information in the first place. I looked back around to Ahzrukhal when I had made my decision. "What of Charon?"

The impenetrable silence in the bar was annoying, but nothing like that was going to stop me. I was like a juggernaut with nothing but fine china in my way when it came to my determination. Anyway, when I muttered those words to Ahzrukhal with a straight face, he laughed at me—full heartedly, even—and I simply waited patiently for him to drown his mirth.

"Oh, my dear, Charon is an important commodity in my bar. He is practically invaluable; I wouldn't be willing to part with him... unless it was for the right price."

I felt odd, talking about a man not ten feet away so casually as if he wasn't really there at all. I must have let my stolid reserve on my face waver with my discomfort, for Ahzrukhal folded his arms and looked down at me with a crooked grin. "What would be your offer?" he said with a slick voice. I really did hate this man.

I turned my head slightly towards the corner again, but I did not look at Charon fully. I slipped my tongue out oh so slightly to wet my lips as I thought over my savings. I had about fifteen hundred caps, collected from various places and corpses all over the Wastes. Luckily, I had nothing to spend it on except food and water, which came relatively cheap. I didn't want to spend it all in one spot, however; I did prefer to have a cushion fund for a rainy day. "I'll offer you one thousand."

"Pah!" he wheezed, slapping a skinless, bony hand against his chest, "you can't be serious, child. Come back when you have a real offer."

"But he hasn't been of much use to you," I added coyly, my mind working to convince him that it was more than enough money, "being that his only purpose is to intimidate young women into paying for wine and carrying them to the clinic when they're in trouble."

"He ensures that I receive the caps that are due."

"If you don't mind me saying so, sir," I said with a low voice, leaning in, "but I think he would have more use to you away from the bar; perhaps he's scaring off more customers than attracting them."

This seemed to have an affect on Ahzrukhal; I could see the cogs working in his mind behind his eyes. It was true, a lot of people were scared beyond their wits in Charon's presence. Maybe he was starting to think that I was right; his biggest competition was fear.

"Well, my dear, I suppose you have a point," he wheezed, leaning to his side and twisting a dial on a safe underneath the counter. It clicked open, and he swung the heavy door sideways, reaching in with a ruined hand and pulling out a yellowed piece of paper. "One thousand caps, and this contract is yours."

I browsed through my Pip-Boy, calling up my satchels of caps. I had three bags, which had five hundred in each, and I handed him two. "You may count them, if you want."

"No need, madame, I believe we have a certain level of trust between us." That was highly debatable. "Very well, here is the contract. Charon is now in your possession."

I took the thin sheet of paper in my hands, withdrawing it from his dead-like fingers. The moment I held the paper, I heard heavy boots cross the bar. I've mentioned it earlier, and I'll mention it again, I am not one to be intimidated, but I couldn't help the feeling of uneasiness rise in my stomach when I turned my head slowly to see Charon approaching. He didn't make eye contact with me; by the time I had turned to see him coming, I noticed his eyes heated on Ahzrukhal. He stood next to me at the bar, and I could see his chest rising and falling noticeably. He was angry, or at the very least, worked up over his sale. I wanted to inch away from him, but I did not want to show my weakness, either. It was silent for a moment, but Ahzrukhal broke through it. "Yes, Charon?"

"I see I'm no longer in your service, Ahzrukhal." I suppose those were the first words I had ever heard him speak, besides "pay", and they had a moving affect at me. In one of the few moments of my life, I was inevitably intimidated. His voice sounded much like most ghouls', deep and raspy, but there was something darker underneath those words. I could tell then that despite his loyalty-binding contract, he had fostered a hate for his master over the years. I didn't look at either of them, instead, I kept my eyes on the bar in between them.

"Yes, Charon, your contract now belongs to our friend here," he said, chuckling with a voice that sounded like he had smoked for hundreds of years. "Have you come to say goodbye?"

"Yes."

Suddenly, without much warning, he whipped his shotgun from his back, firing the barrel into Ahzrukhal's face at point blank. I jumped involuntarily as blood splattered across me, and everyone in the bar shouted out in surprise as Ahzrukhal's face was blown across his own wall. My ears rang loudly; the shotgun had gone off right next to my ear, and I was almost certain my eardrum had burst. I stepped back a bit in surprise, but I had little time to react; even before Ahzrukhal's body slumped to the floor, Charon pelted him again, perhaps for effect. I hope it wasn't a show for others, for most of the patrons had fled the bar, and he had already given me certain permanent hearing damage. When blood splattered across me the first time, I squeezed my eyes shut. I opened them slowly again, almost expecting him to fire a third time. There was blood everywhere—across the shelf, the cash register, the counter, on Charon, on me—I looked down beyond the counter where a dead hand poked up from Ahzrukhal's body, then I apprehensively looked towards my newly hired companion.

"All right," he said without looking at me, "let's go."

I stared up at him with wide eyes, then wiped away a speck of blood under my cheek, quite unnecessarily. I didn't say anything, and he put his shotgun back over his shoulders, looking down at me. "Are you certain you're done?" I asked with bewilderment, my eyes flicking toward Ahzrukhal's body, "is this how you treat all your former employers?"

"Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard," Charon explained with an odd air of politeness, "and your purchasing of my contract allowed me to rid this world of that greasy rat. And now, for good or for ill, I serve you."

At the time, I wasn't so sure if that was good news. But I couldn't ever help but wonder; did he think on me and remember me in such a fond light as I did of him? Back then, I didn't say anything to him after that, I simply reclaimed my bags of caps, walked from the bar, and I heard him follow in toe. Maybe I wasn't even aware of what I thought then.


	3. Happiness is a Warm Gun

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Three: Happiness is a Warm Gun

I think I scared everyone shitless when I blew Ahzrukhal's face off. Everyone except that kid, I should say. The most she did was flinch as the blood splattered across her face, and even after that, she was a little too calm. Between Ahzrukhal and this kid, she was like the Second Coming, but I still didn't like her. Well, I'll put things into perspective; I didn't like anyone. After Ahzrukhal did Schafer in, my only "buddy" was gone. A few ghouls stared at us as we walked from the Ninth Circle, and those that weren't running from the bloody scene were inching towards it slowly to see what happened. I knew no one would come after me. Everyone hated Ahzrukhal, and everyone was scared of me—except that kid, who was stalking off down the stairs ahead of me. I followed her at a set pace, holding my shotgun defensively between my hands. Not only was I relieved of service to Ahzrukhal, but I got to blow his head off, too. I was radiating like a Glowing One.

When we stepped out into the open mall, I covered my eyes with my hand again, although I was a little bit more prepared for the brightness this time. The kid hadn't said anything to me, let alone look back at me when she left from the bar, but when we were halfway between the museum and the road, she paused. I stopped about three steps behind her, bobbing my shotgun up and down in my hand impatiently. She was just standing there, motionless as a statue, then she turned around toward me. Her eyes kind of looked like the way they did when she was bleeding to death on the operating table. If her eyes were any other colour, they'd be a lot fucking easier to read, but I started to learn the look in her eyes as fear. She rarely showed it, though, but it was easy to recognize. She didn't say anything for a few seconds, so I shifted my eyes around, then shrugged. "Yes?"

"Let's discuss your tactics," she said, trying to dissolve the look on her face. Sure enough, it was pretty blank again. "I hired you because I need protection out here; I'm not skilled in long range combat, and most of the enemies in the Wasteland fight with a gun. I'm going to need you to focus on enemies at a distance. Can you do that?"

"Certainly." Man, what a bitch. I had to keep reminding myself that she was a lot better candidate to have my contract than Ahzrukhal. Besides, she was a lot easier on the eyes, too. She looked towards the street, probably apprehensively, then started off again. Not much of a talker, either. I supposed this was better, 'cause I wasn't all too interested in having a conversation with her. But something bugged me about her condescending attitude towards me. Once again, way better than Ahzrukhal, but still. Then again, something annoyed me about every god damned Wastelander I had to look at in the Ninth Circle. I figured I'd just sit back and enjoy the silence while it lasted. There was no chance she'd keep me around long before she sold my contract to someone else, 'least, that's what I thought at the time. I wouldn't kill her when we parted ways, she didn't deserve that, but I wouldn't by any means give her a fond farewell. She started down the old metal escalator steps that led to the metro station underneath the museum, and I followed behind her, scanning the road for threats first. I had no idea where she was taking me, not that I cared that much. That was when I'd remembered a conversation in the bar a couple days earlier, while the kid was still recovering.

"Did you see that smoothskin that came in here the other day?" some ghoul in a dried leather Brahmin dress muttered over her scotch to the ghoul across from her.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Turns out she's going to do that errand for Carol."

"You mean, getting Gob back?" The guy snorted through his vodka, slapping a leathery hand on the table. "She's been asking everyone for the past few years to go look for that guy. Why the hell is the smoothskin helping Carol out?"

"I don't know, maybe there's caps in it for her," the ghoul in the dress replied, sipping on her scotch, "apparently she knows where Gob is. Problem is, she got herself shot up just outside the museum just as she was leaving. Hopefully Carol doesn't get her hopes up on this girl. I doubt she'll last another five minutes on her own."

"I'll drink to that."

Well, at least I knew vaguely what we were doing. I was a little confused when I'd heard the cold, ruthless bitch was going to give Carol a lending hand. I was under the impression that she was only out to find her dad. Sudden change of heart, I guess. Well, Carol was nice enough (I think, I never met her in the fifteen or so years I stayed in Underworld, being cooped up in the Ninth Circle nearly all the time), so maybe the kid got sweet talked into it. Whatever, maybe she was a little better than I gave her credit for.

Moving on, we'd made it to the bottom of the escalators, and now she was struggling with the gate to get it open. It wasn't that she was weak, it was the fact that the hinges had been rusted over from years of disuse. I stood there, waiting for her to finish her fight with the chain link gate, but she kept struggling. I groaned in annoyance in my head, then stepped up behind her. I grabbed the gate with one hand and wrenched it open, the hinges squeaking terribly in protest. She shot her eyes up at me, and I looked down at her. She looked _pissed_. Her mouth was thin and taught, and I could see the daggers she was glaring at me. Then I realized I must've been standing too close to her for either of us to be comfortable. I stepped back a bit, and she continued to glare. I was getting a little impatient, although it was impossible for me to show it. I motioned my gun forward a little bit, then muttered, "after you."

The gate was wide enough for her to slip through, and she didn't hesitate for a second to disappear into the darkness of the tunnel. I quickly followed behind her—her orders were to cover her from threat, basically, and I couldn't do that if she was several feet ahead of me. I was a little happier being in the darkened tunnels, and my eyes felt less strained as I walked through the dark after her.

I wasn't used to having such a silent master, I was expecting her to start reforming me, as in telling me what and what not to do, but she never said anything. Why the fuck did she buy my contract? I'd heard her conversation with Ahzrukhal about hiring a mercenary, but if she didn't like what was on his menu, why didn't she go to someone else? Maybe I'm bickering too much. I was grateful, in a way, but that didn't change the fact that I thought she was rigid.

When we walked into the upper level of the train station, a feral ghoul screeched out loud, it's howl echoing off of the ruins of the train graveyard. I pulled my shotgun from my back, and I think a smile pulled at my lips. The only thing that I enjoyed out of my contract was my ability to kill. I'm no serial killer, but when I have to protect my master from threats, I do it gladly. Combat was like fucking Christmas to me.

Well, nothing should have surprised me from this kid anymore, but she still continued to do so. Any normal person would've shit their pants and jumped five feet in the air, but the kid simply scanned the station below, looking for the feral bastard while she flexed her fists. I didn't know it then, but that was the one thing that we had in common, I guess; we liked to kick the shit out of things that needed it.

I could hear its panting as it ran for the escalators, and I stepped in front of the kid, taking aim down the steps. When it got about halfway up, it reared it's claw backward, ready to take a swipe at me (I know feral ghouls don't attack other ghouls, but it was probably just trying to get past me to the girl). It must've been four feet away from me when I sprayed it with a shell. It tumbled down the stairs, and I muttered, "yeah, you like that?"

The kid didn't take to that. I didn't have to be looking to know she was glaring at me intently. I glanced at her sideways, then turned my head full towards her. She had more blood spattered on her. At this point, I didn't expect anything else than for her to storm past me, and she did. I followed her a few paces behind on the escalators down before led me up the north tunnel. I heard something in between one of the old compartments of the train to our right, and I was about to warn her about it, but she paused, too. I can honestly say that everyday I traveled with this kid, she surprised me at least once in a twenty-four hour period. At this point, she flashed forward and reached in between the compartments, drawing a yelp from someone as she tore the intruder out from hiding and slammed him against the wall by the neck. I raised my shotgun to the raider's face, but I didn't dare fire; the kid was too close to the man. But the way she held him—holy shit, I wasn't expecting that! Her right forearm pinned the guy's neck to the wall, tilted upwards, while her left hand held a knife at the guy's stomach. The guy looked a little terrified, while she looked like she was trying to be terrifying. Her eyes were narrowed and her teeth were bared, and I noticed that she was holding him off the ground—_she was holding him off the fucking ground—_and his boots were kicking around uselessly. I may have been caught off guard, but I kept my aim. I thought the kid had the guy pinned, but he suddenly swung his knee up in between him and her, shoving her away forcefully. She stumbled backwards while he drew a gun, and I took the opportunity to shoot the motherfucker. His body flew a short distance sideways, while his .44 fell a short distance away. His body hit the ground before hers hit the train behind her.

"Are you all right?"

She didn't answer me. Her chest rose and fell noticeably with heavy breathing, and her eyes seemed to be locked on the wall across from her. After what seemed like minutes, I was about to ask her again when she looked at me. It was still hard to read her eyes, not to mention that it was dark, but I could tell she was shaken up. I don't know if it was from seeing things get shot up, or from what she'd just done, and I wasn't about to take bets. But there she went, storming off down the tunnel again. There was something different, something slower in her step. This was the point in my story where I started to change, where she started to take effect on me. Why the hell should I have cared how she walked, how she looked? If it wasn't then, I started to hate her less and sympathize with her a little more after we made camp. Sorry, kid, I wish I were a little bit less of an asshole back then, but I can't change the past. No one can. Fuck this life. I thought it was bad just being a ghoul, but then there's those memories kicking around in my head all the time. Nah, scratch that. I'd rather remember her than not.

* * *

I felt a little guilty for leading Charon across the D.C. ruins and part of the Wasteland in silence. It wasn't that I was bothered by his slaughtering of Ahzrukhal, it simply just turned out that neither of us had anything to say to the other. Essentially, we met no threats again after the incident with the raider, but I was hoping for an ambush the entire way, any excuse for the silence. I knew that Charon and I weren't going to be very talkative with each other, and that he didn't mind my silence (I had the feeling he didn't like me very much), but there was something uncomfortable about it, as if there was something both of us had to say, but couldn't. Maybe I was so used to being alone for so long that I couldn't recall what it was like to exchange words. Even with Amata, I used to be relatively silent. But maybe, just maybe, I needed to reach out to someone, I just needed to talk to get it all off my chest.

We were sitting around the fire he and I had built from dead twigs we found lying in the area. I barely told him of my decision to make camp; instead, I mumbled something incoherent about a fire before I collected some things off the ground to use. I'm not sure if he just assumed I'd commanded him to help, but he helped, regardless. He kept his distance from me, and I guess I was thankful. That might sound wrong. It's not that I didn't like ghouls, their appearance bothered me little. I just felt the need to distance myself from people in general. Truly, I was withdrawn.

Anyway, getting back on track, we were sitting across from each other around the fire; he was taking apart his shotgun, recalibrating it, while I was staring into the fire, lost to my own trapping thoughts. Despite walking through the trouble-ridden Wasteland for over a month, I hadn't encountered someone close enough to have to use my training. Perhaps the fact that he'd thrown me off so easily had bothered me, perhaps it was the way that Charon looked at me after killing my foe that made me feel so displaced. I was bursting at the seams, and before I could hold myself back, I started to talk to Charon.

"I was trained as a security guard back in Vault 101."

I didn't look at him from across the fire, but from my peripheral vision, I could see him pause in his work with his gun and his head incline upwards towards me. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. I just needed to speak, to say anything. "I'm skilled in hand to hand combat."

He kept still, but I still didn't dare look up at him from the fire, I didn't dare gage his face for his thoughts. I wouldn't have found any, anyway. I was starting to realize that he and I had more in common than I thought. At least, we did on the outside. I let my eyes fall to the ground before I continued, "I know you don't care who I am, only that I hold your contract, but you don't have to listen, if you don't want to. I just need to speak my mind."

There was more stillness and silence, but after a moment, he continued on his shotgun. I suppose I was grateful; I felt it would be easier to just talk when he was distracted. God only knew if he was actually listening to my words or not. "After my father left the Vault, I'd never felt more alone. He had abandoned me in the last place that I would have been safe. I'm sure he had different intentions, but I was alone, nonetheless. I'd hoped that the first person I'd come across would be willing to help me find him easily, but I was turned down by everyone. I've been alone ever since, so I apologize for the silence."

"No need to apologize, mistress."

So, he was listening. I was caught a little off guard, but I ensured he was still working on his shotgun before I continued. "I think... I think that wasn't the root of my problems. I... when I was escaping the Vault, I killed the Overseer."

His hands slowed slightly on the shotgun, but he didn't stop. "I know that means nothing to you; he was a man who was so blinded by his duty as the Overseer, that he was willing to kill others to protect the word of the Vault rather than its people. Killing him would have been a blessing, but... I..."

I tilted my head toward the ground, and I heard him stop working on his gun again. I must have been annoying this man to no end, caught with an introverted young woman with no other choice than to watch her cry over her mistakes. I think I felt tears tickle the corners of my eyes, but I wiped my hands across my face to rid myself of anything that threatened to spill, revealing myself to the fire again. "I killed my only friend's father, and now..."

I shook my head to myself. "I thought she hated him, I truly did. He was torturing her when I ambushed him from behind, but once he was dead, she..." I didn't want him to see me cry, not this hard, unreadable man. I very rarely cried, but I think I was on the verge. Two tears darted down my cheeks before I could cover my face, so I pinched the bridge of my noise with my thumb and forefinger instead, squeezing my eyes shut tight in my fight against my show of pain. I sniveled involuntarily, but I tried to cover it. I was akin to masking my emotion all the time, it was something I did inexplicably my whole life. "I don't think she'll ever forgive me," I said, my voice affected by obvious emotion, "I don't think I'll ever get to see her again."

He was silent. I hadn't noticed that he'd reassembled his shotgun and put it to the side long ago. I tried to wipe away my tears, and I dared myself to look up over the fire at him. He seemed to be watching me intently, motionlessly, as if calculating how to react. I know I'd put him in an uncomfortable situation. Now that he was stuck with a useless smoothskin girl, he also had to endure her stories of apparent pain and suffering. I shook my head, and a bitter laugh slipped past my tongue. What of his suffering? He was slave to a contract, robbed of his own free will. He would never get to live his own life as long as that contract existed. I felt immediately guilty, for owning his contract in order to protect myself, for sharing my stories of guilt and defeat to him. I half grumbled, half groaned, then stood abruptly from the fire, turning and walking into the darkness. In the Wastes, when the moon wasn't out, it was pitch black in the landscape, as if the sun had finally died out. As I walked away from the fire, my world went completely black. Not that it mattered; my hands were over my eyes, and my face was screwed up in the effort to try and right myself again. Maybe getting things off my chest wasn't the best idea, especially to a ghoul that did not want my acknowledgment. I sighed heavily, opening my eyes, looking through the darkness. I think I was hoping to find an answer there, but there were no answers anymore. I had been so lost in these thoughts that I didn't realize Charon was behind me until he uttered: "mistress."

I turned, and through a faint silhouette from the fire in the short distance, I could make him out standing a few feet away from me. I tried avoiding looking into his eyes, or where I thought his eyes were, and I glanced to the ground. Why did he follow me? Was he trying to console me?

"I cannot protect you from harm if you wander off."

Of course. I sighed, then nodded. "Charon, I have a command for you."

"Yes, mistress?"

"I want you to regard me as a companion, not a mistress. Speak your mind, and hold nothing back. That is my only request."

I felt odd in the silence. I couldn't tell if he was glaring me down, or simply staring. The darkness was too much to see beyond his outline. "Do you want me to take the first shift, or do you want it?"

I think I was expecting something else, like: "well, screw this noise, you icy bitch," so I was invariably caught off guard. I might have flinched a bit, but he didn't say anything about it. "I will take it, if you don't mind," I said, "I don't sleep easily, anyway."

His hand stretched out toward me, but I couldn't see all of it. I felt like stepping back, but I searched the dark for his hand, trying to figure out what he was doing. "It's a .44," he explained, "it'll be a little easier to keep watch with than your knife."

It was the .44 from the raider I had attacked earlier in the day. I felt ashamed then. Why, I'm not entirely sure. I took the gun from his hand easily, and he almost immediately turned around and headed towards the fire again. I felt the gun with my hands before I moved back toward our camp, considering its implications. I hoped no one would chance upon us, I hoped I wouldn't have to use the gun. I stood just beside the fire, opening the barrel and checking the mechanics, trying to discern how to use the weapon properly. When I closed the chamber again, Charon had spread out across the ground, and had fallen asleep. He looked like a corpse, lying there; his breathing was very shallow, and his appearance was enough to suggest he was already dead. Of course, I knew better, but I found myself staring at him for a long time, trying to comprehend what I had done. Everything, from when I killed Amata's father to when I bought Charon's contract, even the weight of my last command. But more than that, I was starting to piece together my understanding of my companion's nature. When I watched him drift into sleep as if it were death, I wondered what it was that I was feeling when I watched him for a little too long. I turned from the fire, looking into the darkness. There were still no answers in the dark, only more questions.


	4. Ghosts of Slavers Past

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Four: Ghosts of Slavers Past

The moment that kid told me to stop jerkin' her around, I felt like some sort of cat was batting around a ball of yarn inside my head which was my brain. Everything started to unwind, and I felt odd, like a heavy weight just got taken off my back, like I could stand tall for the first time in years. She wanted me to be straight with her, and if it had been the first time I'd met her, I woulda let loose. But this kid... fuck, she was off. I didn't think people could be like that. Besides the unnatural appearance (coming from me, that should mean something) she was way too hard and far too smart than she should've been. She couldn't have been more than twenty, but she acted like she'd lived her entire life already. Well, yeah, I suppose it had something to do with losing her father and killing her best friend's dad. But when she started to cry, I felt weird, like I was some sort of animal that realized it was about to get taken out by a predator. No one ever did that to me. When I said I wasn't an expert on women, I meant it. She was throwing me all sorts of shit, and I wasn't ready enough to catch it all. When she told me to let loose, I felt more free, but at the same time, I didn't; I felt like she had me in a trap that I couldn't get out of. I wouldn't go so far as to say she gave me the creeps; I'm the ghoul, after all, and she was pretty open minded for a smoothskin, but I felt awkward. Deep down, I probably wanted to comfort her, but I didn't know how. I still wouldn't know how.

I woke up about three hours later feeling pretty awake. I rarely slept, being that I was on constant guard for Ahzrukhal. Fucking dick shouldnt've pissed off so many people if he was that paranoid. Anyway, I opened my eyes to see the kid standing with her back to me, staring out into the dark. I stood up slowly, then walked around the fire toward her. When she didn't turn around, I reached out to tap her on the shoulder. She turned real slow toward me, then glanced up toward my face. I noticed that the blood had been wiped from her face, and parts of her hair were still damp from the water she must've splashed on herself. "Are you sure you've slept enough?" she asked, her voice sounding nicer than usual.

"Yeah, I'll take over from here."

She slid the gun into her belt, then moved past me toward the other side of the fire. Her arm brushed mine as she walked by, and I felt her recoil ever so slightly. I expected nothing less, my skin wasn't exactly welcoming to touch, but I still felt a little pissed. When I looked back at her, though, I couldn't tell what I saw out of her. I saw her touch her arm lightly where she'd brushed up against me, but it wasn't out of disgust, I don't think. Ah, whatever. I turned back around, staring into the dark as she had, using my ears to search out any threats. I had a feeling there wouldn't be any, but the moment you let down your guard is the moment you get your ass done in. I heard her settle in the dirt, and I was assuming she'd gone to sleep after five minutes of quiet, but her voice broke through the silence like a hot knife through brahmin butter.

"How did you end up with that contract?"

My head turned a little to the side out of surprise. I guess I got the wrong impression, she actually likes to talk a lot. I wasn't too keen on chatting, I guess, 'cause I replied: "you should get some sleep."

"There are a lot of details on your contract," she continued, ignoring my suggestion. I rolled my eyes. "None of them really say anything about you, or how you got here, though. What happened?"

"I don't know, kid," I snapped, "now get some rest."

There was a pause. My eyes looked to the right, as if I were expecting her to retort and carry it further. Then, I had to suppress a groan. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Listen, I don't want to get into that shit right now!"

"You can't remember?"

"Look," I said, turning around. I held a finger out towards her like I was chastising some sort of dumb animal, "you don't get to sleep, I'll make you get some sleep."

Of course I didn't mean it; there was no way I could actually physically harm her. Of course, her face didn't change—it was blank as usual. Was she scared off, was she mad, or was she still determined to squeeze a bed time story out of me? "I'm sorry," she said pretty quietly, then she turned halfway around, laid back, then rolled onto her side away from me. Okay, so I'm a heartless bastard, but I'd be lying if I said I felt better after that. Actually, there was this weird thing kicking around in my head. I realized it was guilt.

I groaned out a sigh, turning around again. We were back to back, but I think it was easier to tell her my sob story that way. "You wanna hear this, then?"

I didn't look back, and I didn't hear her shift around towards me, either. "Yes."

"'Kay, well... I don't remember anything past fifteen years ago. First thing I can remember is being locked up in a slave pen in Paradise Falls with one of those collars strapped around my neck. I had a few buddies in there with me, and we were mostly all ghouls, but every time some customer came in, they were always more interested in me. I couldn't tell why. No one ever bought me, though, which I thought was fucking ridiculous. Why was I so fucking interesting? It wasn't like I was some sort of good looking merchandise, I looked like the shitty end of the stick. People kept coming for me, though, and they kept going without me. I wasn't complaining much, I guess; I preferred being a slave in waiting rather than someone's bitch. But I had to be bought out eventually. After most of the other ghouls were sold off, some guy wandered in, asking specifically for me, then bought me before I even saw him. That was Schafer.

"He had some dirty power armour on, and I recognized him as one of those Brotherhood bastards. Turns out he was an outcast, but I never asked why. Wasn't my place to. Anyway, once we left Paradise Falls, he showed me my contract for the first time. I claimed I knew nothing about it, but once I read it over, I realized I already knew it, like I'd seen it before. After he gave me a command, just to test the thing out, we found out that it wasn't just a bunch of bullshit; I couldn't do anything against my orders. I couldn't even tear the paper up, I got so sick. Schafer rarely used it on me again, but he didn't throw it away, either. If he did, though, I don't know what I'd do. I had visions of him tossing it over a cliff and me throwing myself after it.

"Anyway, it turns out that he knew about me, said I was some sort of Wasteland legend, and that I was the last of the bunch. I never did ask him much about that, thought it was just crazy talk. Schafer usually did spout out a bunch of crap.

"I went around with him for a couple of months, helping ourselves to scrap we could find in the Wastes and trading it with the caravans. He was a pretty open guy, so I asked him a couple of times why exactly he'd bought me. It's not like he needed help out there. Every time though, he brushed it off, claiming he just needed the company. I always thought there was more to it than that, but I never found out. We came across Underworld after a while, and he got drunk in the Ninth Circle one night, blathering off how he'd rescued me from the slavers. The fucking idiot went as far as to show the bartender my contract. That was Ahzrukhal, and, well, you knew Ahzrukhal, he was a slimy little ass. He killed Schafer in his sleep, then took my contract for himself. So for the past fifteen years, up 'til today, I was in his charge. Funny how that little piece of paper controlled my life.

"Heh... honestly, kid, I just spoke more in the last five minutes than I have since Schafer got himself done in."

I stopped talking, being it was the end of the story, and silence filled the gap in between our turned backs. Whoa, that sounds too deep for me, forget I said that. After a while, curiosity got the best of me, and I looked back over my shoulder to see if she'd fallen asleep. I found her propped up on her elbows, staring up at me. I guess... I don't know, maybe I noticed how pretty she was. I hated smoothskins simply for their attitude, making life more fucking miserable than it already was for ghouls, but this kid wasn't like most smoothskins. I think that's why it was easier to notice how her long blonde hair looked when in fell over her shoulders, how her eyes were so easy to stare into sometimes, and how her pale white skin seemed so flawless by the fire. I sound like such a fucking pussy, but really, she was beautiful. I think I looked a little longer than I should have, so I turned away from her eyes after a bit. I've said it a few times already, but god damn, she was hard to read.

"Charon," she said so quietly, it was almost like a whisper. She didn't say anything else, but I could tell she was trying to be all sympathetic and shit. Also wasn't expecting that from her. Maybe I never had her figured out.

"That's all I got, kid," I said, trying to shove her off, "now go to sleep."

I didn't dare look back at her again. I thought I'd catch myself thinking about her the same way twice. I think about an hour passed before I decided to shift positions, and I took a peek towards her as I moved past. She'd fallen asleep on her back, probably star gazing. I figured she might be one for star gazing.

* * *

"Hey, wake up," Charon said over me, nudging my elbow with a boot. I opened my eyes gently, as if I'd been awake for a while, and simply had my eyes closed. He was standing over me, and I could see the sky tinted light shades of blue, pink, and yellow, acting as a background to his silhouette. "We should get a move on."

"Yes," I agreed, sitting up and brushing the excess dirt off of my clothes, "we should."

I probably had twice as much sleep as he did. That was unusual for me, as I'd come accustomed to functioning on a handful of hours of sleep per night. I'd always been on edge, sleeping out in the Wastes, but I think knowing I had someone keeping watch put me at far too much ease than it should have. When I'd deemed myself clean, I took the .44 from my belt and handed it back to Charon. "I don't do well with firearms," I admitted, trying to get him to take it from me.

"Hey, you need it more than I do," he replied, throwing his hands up in front of him, "keep it as a security blanket, if you want. I'm not taking it back."

I had given him the command to be more open, but I wasn't so sure if I was keen on that order anymore. "Right," I said shortly, slipping the gun into my belt and checking my map. Megaton was about thirty miles to the south. It would take a better portion of the day to make it there; best to leave now. I planted my marker on the map, and an indicator appeared on the digital compass. With my tentative route placed, I started the hike, recalling a box of sugar bombs as I walked. "Are you hungry?" I asked Charon, pulling open the box and taking a bite of a bomb-shaped cereal. He must have shook his head, for he didn't reply to me vocally. I suppose it wasn't the smartest idea for a woman trained in close combat to be eating as she walked through a dangerous desert, but we couldn't waste any time stopping to eat. Eating istelf couldn't be put off, either; no one ever fought well on an empty stomach.

I didn't say anything to him the entire way there. I heard him mumbling incoherently once in a while, and I discerned it as hopes for an enemy to come by, anything to shoot at. It was a little grim, but I supposed it was his calling in life. After I'd forced him to share his life story with me the night before, I felt like I'd pushed him too far, like he wanted nothing more than to avoid me at any cost. Unfortunately for him, I held his contract, so he had no choice but to follow me. I'd hoped that when I had finished bringing Gob home to Underworld that I could sell the binding slip of paper to another, more benevolent master than Ahzrukhal had been, but I thought otherwise. Despite his certain distaste for me, I needed the help, and I was unlikely to find any other companion with such unfaltering loyalty as Charon, as false as that loyalty seemed to be.

By the time we had reached Megaton, it was late afternoon. Unfortunately for Charon, the worst of our troubles was a pack of wild dogs, which we dispatched quite quickly, perhaps too quickly for his tastes. After that, the land was free of obstacles. At any rate, Deputy Weld, the oddly programmed Protectron, opened the gates for us as we approached. **"WELCOME TO MEGATON. THE BOMB IS COMPLETELY SAFE, WE PROMISE."**

The engine's roar was loud and over powering, and all other noise drained out as I passed on to the gate. I think I heard Charon mumble: "I don't like the look of this place," but I couldn't be certain—the engine was too loud. I agreed with him to an extent; I didn't take to very many people in Megaton, for most of them were repugnant individuals. Maybe I was too presumptuous, but most of them seemed to be dishonest.

We crossed into Megaton, and I could see the familiar shape of Lucas Simms climbing up the hill. He gave me a friendly enough wave as he climbed the iron slat steps, but I saw his eyes linger on the mean appearance of Charon. I suppose the blood stained leather armour he wore wasn't the most welcoming of sights, but Simms seemed to brush this off visibly, assuming that if he was traveling with me, he would behave. I led Charon around the top of the crater, weaving our way across the iron walkways, up and down a few stairs, and we passed several of Megaton's finer establishments. When we moved past _Craterside Supply_, Charon let out a low whistle, cursing under his breath. I followed his gaze to the bomb that sat in the center of the crater down below, where a few members from the Church of Atom stood praising the artifact.

"It's dormant, but it can still go off," I explained, pausing to look at the bomb with Charon. A few Wastelanders passed us by on the walkway, staring at us with incredulous eyes. Neither of us were bothered by this, and certainly not Charon. His mouth was slightly open as he stared at it before he asked: "what the fuck were these people thinking?"

"They had bravado, and they wanted deterrence, I suppose."

"You wanna say that in English?"

I glanced at him sideways, smiling ever so slightly before speaking again. "The place offered protection, and there weren't many others willing to bring themselves that close to a live atomic bomb."

"So, this town is full of people out of their fucking tree?"

"There are some, yes," I replied, a smile reforming my lips.

We continued up the stairs opposite, climbing the path that led to _Moriarty's Saloon_. I was feeling increasingly nervous; that was where we would find Gob, that was where Moriarty would be waiting. I was a headstrong young woman, and I knew I would be able to handle his carefully chosen words and his manipulating ways without getting lost to vulnerability, but I was worried that if I faltered for even a second, my chances of saving Gob would be lost. My sudden change of heart to helping Carol was odd enough, but my sudden urgency to ensure Gob's safety was puzzling, to say the least. I had little time to worry over these things before we made it to the front door. I could hear the muted sounds of chatter and inebriated laughing from beyond, and my hand hesitated at the door handle. In the saloon, I was far out of my element. It was much easier to face Moriarty on the outside.

"Hey, kid," Charon said, shifting his feet, "snap out of it."

I briefly looked towards him then nodded slightly. "Yes."

The bar was a cesspool of everything distasteful; the smell of dried alcohol spilled over the floors and tables occupied the air, while the dark dank feel of the room was emphasized with the unpleasant warmness and smell of excessive sex. The first time I wandered into Moriarty's, it all had hit me just as hard as it did then. Charon closed the door behind us, and my eyes stung as they tried to adjust to the dark quickly. After standing there at the front blindly for a few moments, my eyes cleared to see Gob leaning over the counter, pouring a glass of vodka and Nuka-Cola. The rest of the bar was full with the same recognizable patrons, but I didn't give so much as a second glance to any of them. I felt odd, like I was walking into a death trap as I made my way to the bar.

"Gob," I said quietly, as if I were trying to hide something. He looked up at me, giving me an odd look, as if he recognized me, but he wasn't sure who I was.

"Oh," he said, sounding rather unimpressed, "I remember you. Left the Vault a couple months back, right?"

"Just about that long," I said sitting down on a stool. Gob slid the glass down the counter to a man in an eye patch, and the man took the beverage with a slow hand, tilting the drink to his lips with careful movements. "Gob, I need to talk to Moriarty. Is he around?"

Gob scarcely looked up at me, but shifted his eyes toward the closed door behind him. "He's with Nova."

I looked to the back door, a disgusted, sinking feeling growing in my stomach. "I see," I muttered as Charon took the stool next to me. Gob moved to the radio, turning up the volume slightly, before looking to me. "So, smoothskin, what will it—"

He paused, looking to Charon. Gob didn't have much for skin on his face, but I could see his muscles fall in an expression of shock. I looked to Charon, and he was giving Gob a relatively puzzled look in return. "You want somethin'?" he asked, resting his fists on the counter in front of him.

"Charon, that's you?" Gob said, leaning on the counter, almost mimicking his stance. "God, I haven't seen you since Paradise Falls. Been about fifteen years, hasn't it?"

I looked between Charon and Gob, a feeling of surprise and confusion rousing my mind. Charon's brow (or what was left of it) furrowed at the other ghoul, leaning back slightly. "You know me?"

"You don't remember me?" he asked, an odd smile revealing a set of slightly chipped teeth, "you and I were slaves in that God forsaken hell hole for five years before I was sold. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

I felt the same way that I had the morning I bought Charon's contract, and the two confronted each other beside me. I kept my eyes on the counter in between Gob and Charon, but I was watching Charon through the corner of my eye. He leaned back, silently contemplating Gob. The bartender shifted on his feet, then picked up a glass to busy himself with, wiping it down briefly with his dirty rag. I could tell Charon was giving Gob his heated eyes, the kind that unnerved me to no end, like he was trying to set me aflame by his gaze alone. I heard Gob let out a short, weak laugh, which sounded more like a _tck_, before he asserted: "you don't remember, do you?"

The door directly behind Gob opened gently, and Nova stepped out, lighting a cigarette. As soon as the door handle turned, Gob's eyes shot downward, and he grabbed at something else to work at. Moriarty strutted out shortly after Nova, and his eyes immediately fell upon me. He smiled his calculating smile, nodding his head towards me, "come back for that information on your dad, yes?" but then his eyes shifted to Charon beside me, and his face fell, like Gob's the first time he'd seen the ghoul. At this point, I was perplexed; apparently Charon was more well known than I'd been led to believe through his story. Charon stood from the stool, eying both Moriarty and Gob down, before he turned to me.

"I'll wait outside, unless you've got any objections?"

I looked up at him, and I saw the confusion and the discomfort in his stance. "Of course," I said quietly, "I'll meet you outside."

He turned from me the moment I stopped talking, and he stalked out of the bar. A few eyes were trained on him as he left, and I didn't blame them; apart from his ghoul features, he was noticeable by his sheer height, and he was intimidating. I watched him go briefly with the other onlookers before I turned back to Gob and Moriarty. Both stood side by side, but Gob tried to look busy as he stared after Charon. The moment I heard the front door close behind him, Moriarty's lips turned into a snarl, and he smacked the back of Gob's head. "Why didn't you say that bastard was in the bar?"

Gob had flinched forward from the smack, but he slowly recovered, not so much as touching his hand to the spot. "He just got in, Mister Moriarty."

"Ah, you useless slob," Moriarty grumbled, turning toward me. An eyebrow cocked upward, and his lips reformed into a slight smile. "I suppose you led Charon in here, young lass?"

I ignored his questionable banter, then stood from the stool. "I'd like to have a word with you in private, Moriarty." I wasn't so sure if I wanted to negotiate the terms of Gob's release with the ghoul in question standing right there. I particularly didn't want Gob to be present should my attempts for his barter failed.

I saw the old man's eyes flicker toward the door, then he nodded once towards me. "Certainly, miss, right into my office, please."

I felt even more unnerved about isolating myself in the small room of Moriarty's personal quarters, but talking in the bar would surely draw attention that I did not want. With this, I walked firmly around the counter, meeting Moriarty at the opposite end. With that, he turned on his heel, walking back into the small room. He let me in first, then closed the door behind me. The pungent smell of sex was heavy in the room, punching me square in the chest and robbing me of my breath. It was disgusting.

"So, my sweet Star of the Wastes," Moriarty cooed, walking around me and twisting his computer chair around to face me. He sat down, legs spread and arms folded across himself casually, "you've come to make a deal, I hope?"

"I'm not here to collect information on my father," I said sternly, "I'm here to negotiate Gob's release."

"Hah!" Moriarty laughed, unfolding his arms to slap his knee, "oh, my dear girl, I'd expected more from you. You came all the way back here with such valuable merchandise in order to save that sorry sop?"

I didn't realize it then, but Moriarty had planted a seed of curiosity in order to sway me in his favour. My brow furrowed, and I looked over him cautiously. I knew he was talking about Charon, but I wanted to prompt him for more information. "What do you mean?"

"You don't know?" Moriarty questioned with a sarcastic chuckle, "that ghoul you sauntered in here with just so happens to be the last contracted servant in the Wastes," he explained, motioning with his hands toward the ceiling, as if beginning on an epic tale of heroism. "Oh so many years ago, that poor soul was brainwashed into serving anyone who held his contract, anyone who held his soul. But I assume you know that already; he wouldn't be following you if you didn't have that contract."

Dammit, I should have walked out then, but I did not. I should have seen the trap I was walking into, but I could not stop; I was blinded by my desire to get Gob out of there quickly and return to Underworld with him. "Yes," I said quietly, "but we're getting off topic."

"Oh, you think so?" Moriarty said, leaning forward on his knees, "because I think this has everything to do with the topic at hand."

"I want to pay off Gob's debt to you."

"And what's your offer?"

"Whatever his debt is."

He smiled at me slyly. "I highly doubt you have the caps to pay for that sack of shit," Moriarty offered, checking the nails on one of his hands, "but if you're willing to do a trade rather than a purchase, I might be interested."

I felt my heart slow. Why hadn't I seen it before? That look he gave Charon at the bar, I should have known... but I had to dig further, being that Moriarty seemed to know more about Charon's past than the ghoul did himself. "What's your interest in Charon?"

"O—ho, I thought you'd never ask," he said, standing from his chair and pacing towards me. I stepped out of the way of his path as he approached, and he folded his hands behind his back, talking overly jubilantly. "I went to purchase a slave for my fine establishment, oh... fifteen years back. In any case, I wanted someone sturdy that could do my bar work and take shit from customers," he paused, stopping in front of me, and smiling pleasantly, "but all they had were fucking ghouls." He continued pacing, walking away from me again. "However, to my utter surprise, one ghoul in the catalogue turned out to be a contracted servant, who was absolutely unfaltering to the owner of that little slip of paper. He would've been a perfect addition to _Moriarty's Saloon_, had he not costed a fucking fortune.

"So, the sad tale ends that Moriarty only had enough to pay for lovely little Gob, the sorry little ass. I carted him back home, fuming over the loss of the best commodity I'd ever find." He turned to look at me, smiling broadly again. "But, my dear, I'm glad to say that I've moved on from slaving business, and I'll have none of it in my establishment, not over my dead body." I repressed a scoff. "However, there's nothing illegal about having a servant who'll be loyal to me for the sake of loyalty, yes?"

"No, Moriarty," I replied coolly, "I'm not 'trading' Charon for Gob. I'm willing to pay off his debt in exchange for his freedom."

"Ah, well, that's unfortunate," Moriarty said, approaching me. "I was really hoping you and I would understand each other's interests." I tried to back away as he got close, but I found my heel connecting with the back wall of his room. He slung an arm over my shoulder, peering into my face. I could smell the scent of alcohol and Nova on his breath, and I turned my head away from him, trying to keep my composure. "Of course, we could make other arrangements..."

"No, Moriarty," I said again, pulling away from him as gently as I could, trying to show my control, trying to prove to him that I wouldn't be bothered by his antics, "I'm willing to pay you for Gob."

"Oh, I see," Moriarty said, leaning towards me and folding his hands behind his back, "you have ten thousand caps, do you?"

"_Ten thousand?_" My voice came off more shrill than it should have; I knew then that I was losing the battle. "You can't be serious, no man is worth that much to anyone!"

"Oh, but I've spent plenty of years paying for Gob's food and shelter, and if he isn't a slave, he's a tenant, and he is in a right debt to pay off those services, my dear."

I fought to keep my face from showing my rage. Ten thousand caps. I would be five hundred short. Surely, Moriarty would accept such a small discrepancy, but I couldn't spend all of my and Carol's caps. I was hoping to walk away with most of it, but I suppose I was too naïve in my own speculations. Even if I did get all the caps to set Gob free, I became aware of the sneaking suspicion that Moriarty would never let Charon's appearance leave his mind. He would steal from me, scheme me, cheat us in some way. He would haunt me as long as I had Charon in my company.

"My offer still stands," Moriarty said quietly, "I'm willing to trade Charon and his contract for Gob, straight across, no strings attached."

I should have known I would be too far over my head when I agreed to Carol's proposal, I should have known to back out of that bar the moment Moriarty's evil eyes locked onto Charon. Oh, God, what have I done?

* * *

"Charon," I said quietly. He was leaning up against the wall of Moriarty's Saloon casually, looking grim, or I suppose in his words, "pissed". He looked down at me, unfolded his arms and stood tall. "So?" he said, stepping toward me, "how'd it go?"

At that moment, Moriarty stepped out of the bar behind me, and I couldn't bring myself to look Charon in the eye. I looked to my boots, studying them with too much intention as I felt Moriarty step up beside me. "Well, you must be Charon," he chimed cheerfully in his fabricated accent, "glad to have you on the team."

I didn't look up at Charon, but I knew his eyes were shifting between me and Moriarty. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Ah-ah," Moriarty chided, shaking a finger at Charon, "there'll be none of that language."

"Look, asshole, I—"

Moriarty lifted the contract, and I had to close my eyes. I felt like I had cheated Charon somehow. I knew that he didn't take to me, but throwing him to another master who was no better than Ahzrukhal was painful in itself. "I'll be going by master, not 'asshole'," Moriarty said sternly. "Now, get inside, I want you to keep watch over the customers until I say otherwise."

"Yes, master."

It hurt more to hear those words than it did to hand the contract over to Moriarty. As Charon started after Moriarty into the bar, I looked up into his eyes, but he did not look at me. His eyes were straight ahead, as if I actually wasn't there at all. I turned on my heel to watch him disappear into _Moriarty's_, and the door closed gently behind him, but it slammed inside my head. I didn't move for a moment, and I had almost forgotten my purpose before I heard a scuffle and a shout from within. The door _banged_ open, and I heard Nova shout: "Gob!" before the ghoul was shoved forcefully from the bar with a sack in his hand, and the door swung shut once again. He looked at the door with the most shocked and surprised expression I had ever seen a ghoul have. Either he was elated to be free, or he was still trying to piece together what had happened to him. He was breathing heavily, though, so I took this as a sign that he'd been torn from something he didn't wish to leave. After a moment, I broke the silence. "Gob?"

He looked over at me, searching me top to bottom with the same bewildered look on his face. "Did you bail me out?" he asked, "did you trade Charon for me?"

"Yes," I said weakly, "Carol sent me to take you home."

His eyes flashed, but the look died away quickly. "Oh."

I sighed heavily, shuffling my feet towards the ramp that led down. "Are you ready?"

He looked towards the bar door again, a sense of longing hanging on his features. "Yeah."

As I started off towards the exit of Megaton, I heard Gob's heavy steps follow behind me. _Charon, I have wronged you,_ I thought. _I'm sorry._


	5. Reclimation, Rescue

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Five: Reclamation/Rescue

I'm telling you, this shit comes right out of her sleeve. How was I supposed to know she'd pull a stunt like that? I wasn't pissed, though. I was outright fucking furious. Sure, I'm just a piece of merchandise, and she was only having me along to shoot off the bad guys, but I was expecting more of her than to trade me off to this sorry sop of a bastard Moriarty. Ah, well, one asshole to the next, I guess. What's another fifteen years of solitude? On the upside, this guy seemed to know about my past. Maybe he'd let me in on the story if I was patient enough. Nah, who'm I kidding? I was doing the exact same shit in _Moriarty's_ that I was doing in the Ninth Circle: standing in the corner, blanking everybody and waiting to blow some jack ass's face off. I doubted he'd even let me get any sleep, either. I'd probably get that Gob guy's last room, but I was probably get too far ahead of myself.

It was peak hours, I guess, 'cause it was dark outside and the bar seemed packed. I stood by the door, my arms folded over my chest, just standing there. Fuck, smoothskins were even worse when it came to their alcohol; I remember ghouls being able to slam back quite a few beers before feeling a buzz at the Ninth Circle. I remember Ahzrukhal mentioning he liked it that way; it made him more money. Anyway, these assholes were rowdier than fuck, howling and spilling their shit everywhere. I was starting to miss Ahzrukhal when I saw some armoured ass grab for the bar's whore, making her stumble and knock over some bottles.

"Hey, Nova, I think I wanna show you a good time—"

"Get off, Jericho," Nova retorted, yanking herself away from the bastard, "I've got work to do, and I don't need you taking me away from my customers."

"Who's to say I ain't buyin'?" the idiot retorted, getting up out of his seat from his drinking buddies and towering over Nova. She had boulders for balls, that woman; she glared holes into Jericho as he stood over her, her face strong and unyielding. A few people went silent in the bar (silent as in they stopped chatting bullshit to each other, but started giggling at the confrontation between the two), and I flicked my eyes over to Moriarty behind the bar. He continued to wipe down the counter, but his eyes were trained on the two in the middle of the bar, watching them intentionally. Eventually, he looked to me, and with a shit eating grin, he tilted his head toward Jericho. Fucker.

I unfolded my arms and approached the two. A scowl would've been plastered on my lips, but that was only with the kid. It was like handing over that contract was hitting a reset button on me. I had freedom (or near enough to it) for less than twenty four hours before I was knocked back to base one; no emotions, no self, just a mindless bouncer drone. Shit.

I got close to the two, and Nova was trying to shove herself off of Jericho again when he reached out to grab her. "You know, I could take you outta this place," he mumbled under his breath as she struggled.

"Get _off_, Jericho!"

My hand came down heavy on his shoulder, and I spun him around. He was a relatively short guy (by relatively, I mean to me, but everyone was generally shorter than me) but he peered up at me, his nose crinkling up and his eyes narrowing a little too much. "Yeah?" he said, grunting at me, "you want somethin'?"

"Get out."

I noticed that the giggling had died down, and there were a lot of people watching us. I suppose I was going to be a central attraction for a while. I hate humans.

"So, you're Gob's replacement, eh?" he said, letting go of Nova. She made a show of tearing herself away, but she stood on the spot, watching us. I noticed the guy's voice was almost as raspy as mine, and I entertained the idea of what he'd sound like as a ghoul. It was an amusing thought, but he cut me off. "Carry your weight a lot better than he does, huh? You both look like shit, though."

"Jericho," Nova growled threateningly, and his face screwed up in annoyance.

"Shut the fuck up a second, will ya?" he said, lifting a hand up to put her off. His body shifted slightly from me, and his attention was elsewhere, so I lunged out my hand, grabbing the scruff of his shirt that peeked out over his armour, pulling him close. He stumbled forward a bit, caught off guard, and his face was momentarily blank. "Get out," I repeated more thickly.

I think it took him a bit to work this through, 'cause a few seconds passed before he struggled from my grasp. He pulled his armour straight, then stretched his neck a bit. I was pretty sure he was gonna try to start something, the slick little fuck. He started strolling past me all casual like, then he threw a fist up toward my face from the side. I grabbed his punch, twisted his arm around and aimed him toward the bar's door, then kicked him by the ass into it. He smacked against the door a little thickly, but he recovered, eying everyone in the bar down. He had this real pissed off look on his face, but I could tell he was trying to muster up any sort of dignity he had left. After a second, he tore the door open, then stormed out. I suppose he wasn't used to being made a fool in front of a bunch of sorry assholes. I might've felt bad for him in any other case. Nah, who'm I kidding? I could give two shits about that guy, I could give two shits about anybody. Not anybody, not anymore. _God damn, kid, why'd you have to pull a stunt like that?_

The chatting started up again after a pause, and Moriarty's business was set straight again. "Hey, thanks, sugar," Nova said behind me, lighting up a cigarette and stepping to my side, "I owe you one."

"I didn't do anything for you," I grumbled without looking at her, making my way back to my miserable post by the door.

"No," she mumbled disdainfully, and I could hear her breathe out the smoke slowly, "I guess you didn't."

I was going to hate this place. Not that I could do anything to show it, though. When I stood with my back to the wall again, my eyes landed on Moriarty, and I could see him give me some sort of smirk. I shifted my eyes over his shoulder; there weren't any orders saying I had to look at his mug all the time.

After a few hours (I think, I wasn't keeping track) a better portion of the bar cleared out for the night, and it looked like things were wrapping up. Moriarty caught my glance again, waving his hand for me to come over. I sighed inwardly approaching the bar, sidestepping around some schmuck that collapsed on the ground from too much booze. "Charon, do me a favour and clear out the rest of the customers, will you? It's time to close up."

"As you wish," I muttered. The moment Moriarty said this to me, a few people around the bar got up (stumbling a bit) and headed for the door. I turned to the first table, tapping the guy on the shoulder rather bluntly. Like all the other plastered idiots, his movements were slow and slurred as he threw his head up from the table to look at me. He mumbled something incoherent, but I only growled in response, pointing a finger towards the door. Some of the others were easier to persuade, others I had to drag, but eventually the bar was clear. I could feel Nova watching me the entire time, with some sort of contempt drawn on her face. Whatever, it's not my fault her ghoul buddy got traded for me. I was probably just as bitter as she was about me being there. When I threw down the lock on the door, it was just the three of us, and I could hear Moriarty begin to count his caps.

"Nova, be a dear and hand over your tips, would you?"

I turned around, standing by the door, and I noticed she was watching me when she went toward the counter to put down her handful of caps. The fuck was her problem? She was starting to bug me more than the kid had. We stood around the floor of the bar, watching Moriarty count his caps. He finally swept the rest into the cash register again, then slapped his hands together, like he was trying to brush off the dust from a long, hard day's work, the prick.

"Well, it's going to be a little more quiet without Gob around, eh, Nova?" She didn't reply to him. He looked over to me, nodding his head. "Since there aren't any guests in the rooms tonight, you can have the night to yourself. You can have Gob's old room; last room at the end of the hall."

"Thank you, master." Aagh, fuck, I hated that word. I was starting to like "Mistress" ten times more than I should have.

"And Nova, get a good night's sleep. Wouldn't want you tuckered out for work tomorrow, would we?"

"'Night, Moriarty," she droned, and started up the stairs. I followed in step behind her, and as I climbed the fourth step, Moriarty waved me down. "Oh, and if you hear anything during the night, come down and check it out, yes? You see anybody besides me rifling through that cash register, don't hesitate to blow their fucking brain across the floor."

"Certainly."

"Ah, you're a good lad," Moriarty said, throwing a hand over his head as he retreated behind the counter. "G'night."

Fuck, he didn't just say that to me, did he? Christ...

At the top of the stairs, Nova motioned lamely over to the room at the far back. "That's yours, now."

I didn't say anything to her, I just moved past her to the doorway she pointed at. "You could at least say thank you."

"Fuck off," I retorted quietly, but loud enough for her to hear, as I made my way into Gob's old room. I guess I kind of slammed the door a little too hard, but I didn't care so much, as long as it was okay with Moriarty. Man, I hated myself, this pitiful existence—_as long as it was okay with Moriarty—_I didn't realize it, but the kid had shown me what it was to be myself for the first time in years, and I was slowly becoming aware of the frustration that built up inside me over keeping myself pent up in some sorta cage. At this, I think I sighed out loud. At least the dick was giving me my own personal space. I rubbed a hand over my head, ruffling the bits of hair that were left, and I turned to face the room. It was small, dismal, dingy; an obvious home of a ghoul. At least Gob got a room, but still... maybe I felt a little for the guy, but I wouldn't go so far as to say those exact words. Like I said, I didn't give a fuck about people. At least, historically I hadn't.

I took my shotgun off my back, propping it up on the wall next to the dirty, ruined mattress. I started unclipping the straps to my breast plates and shoulder guards, feeling odd as I did. I rarely took off my armour; I usually only did once a month in order to keep it in shape and clean it up a bit. As long as I could remember, when I slept (which was rare to begin with) I wore my armour. I dunno, maybe I was distracted. I was thinking on the day's events, being the day after my first with the kid and the first with a brand new master. I moved pretty fucking quick from Underworld to Megaton, but I really hadn't progressed any. Still in the same stinking shit position. Fucking kid. I couldn't tell what I was feeling, though. I thought I was angry, but I think... no, I don't know what to think, I'd never felt this before. Call me pathetic, I don't care, but maybe I missed her. She was a lot nicer on the eyes than Moriarty was. Agh... that's just an excuse. I tried kicking myself mentally as I laid back on the mattress, and tried to get some sleep. The sooner I forgot about her, the better.

I was just kind of lying there for a few minutes with my eyes closed, not getting to sleep. Despite that I'd just decided I'd best move on quick, she was kind of stuck in my head. The moment I realized that I was absolutely pissed at her for trading me off so quick helped me put her out of my train of thought. Okay, sure, we weren't the best of buddies, and her sole purpose of taking me along was to help Gob out of his predicament, but man, I even thought that was a low blow. It just reminded me what a piece of shit I was.

I didn't even realize when I fell asleep. I had a few thoughts run through my mind, if you want to call it dreaming. I thought of how Gob and Moriarty looked at me, like they'd known me my whole life, and how out of place I felt then. But I could see her more clearly than the others, all those faces she'd shown me that seemed so stoic all the time. It was the last time I saw her, with her eyes down cast and her shoulders all hunched, that I saw the most. I know I couldn't read her that well, but that moment... no, fuck it.

So, here's where a first happened. I'd fallen asleep surprisingly quickly, being how incensed I was, so I didn't hear anyone come in. The moment I felt someone's hand come close to my neck, my right hand whipped to the shotgun by the bed, and I flipped it into my hands, holding the barrel in the intruder's face. I was expecting to see Nova, come to kill me in my sleep or something, but it wasn't. At the end of my barrel was the kid's face.

I was surprised at first, and my finger was dangerously close to the trigger. I would have shot her there and then, but Moriarty's orders were too specific; I was only to shoot anyone digging around in his caps. She was an intruder in _Moriarty's_, but she wasn't a thief. That being said, I didn't lower my gun either, I just held her eyes for what seemed like a long time with my shotgun in between us. Her face seemed fearless and blank as usual, but her lips were parted just a bit, and her eyes were just a bit more wide than they usually were. That's when I noticed she was sitting on the mattress next to me—she probably collapsed onto it out of surprise—and her hand had fallen on my chest. "Charon," she said, _so_ quietly, "I'm sorry."

I didn't reply. Instead, reluctantly, I pumped the barrel as a warning. "Get out, or I'll bring you to my master."

Then—Jesus Christ, what a brave little bitch—her right hand raised slowly, and I could see the yellowed piece of paper clutched gently in her hand. She had my contract. _She had my contract_. Wow, I really underestimated this kid. I lowered my shotgun immediately, then sat up in the bed, letting her hand slip away. The reset button was hit again, but this time... I dunno, maybe it'd been too soon since she'd last been my mistress, but I felt myself open up again, almost instantly. "Kid, what the _fuck—_"

"It was the only way, but I'm sorry," she said, keeping her voice real low, "now, I hate to sound like a mistress, but I need you to escort me out of Megaton now, as quickly and quietly as possible."

I got up from the bed quickly and quietly, making sure not to cause a loud disturbance to wake Nova or Moriarty. I'd left my armour plates on the floor, and I started clipping them onto my body again. I'm pretty sure I was grinning when I replied, "my pleasure."

* * *

I led Gob about a mile from Megaton before I stopped in my tracks. He'd been more silent than Charon had been, if that were even possible. I was looking out over the horizon for a while, trying to sort out what I was thinking, what I was doing. My head slowly sunk towards the ground, and I stared at my weathered boots. _What have I done?_

"Smoothskin?" Gob grumbled behind me, but I didn't acknowledge him. I didn't think I could at that moment.

"Hey, kid... I appreciate you comin' to save my hide an' all," Gob said, and I could hear his feet shift in the dirt, "but... you're not gonna leave him there, are you? Charon, I mean."

"I'm not sure."

"Listen, Charon, he... you can't leave him with Moriarty, it's not fair. I don't know how you ended up with him, but I'm not worth the trade. Really, can't we just go back?"

This caught my attention. My brow furrowed together, and I turned to look at Gob. "What do you mean?" I tested, "you want to stay in Megaton? You don't want to go back to Carol?"

"Well... don't get me wrong, I miss her a lot," Gob said, shifting uncomfortably under my eyes and motioning with his hands. I supposed he wasn't used to people keeping direct eye contact with him for so long. "But Charon's different. Sure, he's a tougher guy than I am, and he can make it, but you pretty much threw him in the garbage back there. You can't just leave him to Moriarty like that, it's not a good life."

I closed my eyes, guilt betraying my features. "I know, Gob, I know, but Moriarty... I didn't know about Charon's past, and Moriarty wouldn't let it go. I had no other choice."

"A ghoul for a ghoul doesn't sound like much, I know," Gob muttered, and I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me short, "but despite what you may think, Charon's got it worse than anyone out in the Wastes. The fact that he had no choice in you swapping us should say a lot to that."

I hung my head again. "I know you're right," I muttered in defeat, "but there's no way I'll be able to get him back now. Moriarty doesn't seem willing to part with his new found prized possession."

Gob was silent with me, but I had no idea he was using the quiet to scheme. "Hey, you ever listen to Galaxy News Radio?"

I was puzzled; this change in topic seemed hardly appropriate. "Why on earth—"

"You ever hear those episodes of Herbert 'Daring' Dashwood and Argyle?"

I must have been showing the utmost perplexed expression on my face, because Gob seemed to squirm under my eyes. "What?"

"I'm just saying..." he mumbled, trailing off a bit before continuing, "we can't get Charon back, you're right about that. But that doesn't mean to say we can't bust him out. We could go back in at night and sneak him out, like Dashwood and Argyle would've done."

I knew that Gob was passionate about Galaxy News Radio the first time I'd seen him; he was banging on the radio insistently, cursing it to work, hoping the signal would come back to life. It had been constantly fuzzy for the past few months, and it continued to be so, but Gob would still listen for Three Dog, he would still listen for those inspirational messages about fighting the Good Fight. Although he seemed a little too naïve about the dangers of the implications he was making, I felt something tug at the back of my mind, and it made my heart flutter. _We could steal him back..._

The thought offered certain death, of course; there was no possible way that a young woman and an ex-ghoul slave could fling themselves into hell to steal its prized henchman without climbing back out alive again, was there? Even though I tried to deny it, I knew Gob was right, and I knew that I agreed with him all along. I couldn't leave Charon behind, not because it was morally corrupt, but because I realized I couldn't go on without him there with me. No, I wasn't concerned about security in the Wastes... I was concerned about a friend. Although I was certain I wasn't considered a friend in his eyes, I'd misled myself into believing I had held him with the same disdain he seemed to hold for me. But I cared more for the ill fated ghoul than I dared to admit, and there was no possible way I was about to continue on without him.

"Suppose I agree with you, Gob," I tried to say evenly, without betraying my emotions to him, "how do you propose we go about rescuing him from Moriarty?"

"Agh, well..." he said, glancing back at Megaton, "I was hoping you wouldn't ask."

I watched him look after the town, the small patches of hair on his head blowing around in the wind. We were so helpless, dreaming of things too far out of reach, knowing there was no way to achieve our goals, realizing how small we were.

Well, we had to start somewhere, if we were serious about doing this. "Gob, is there a safe or stronghold where Moriarty stores his valuables?"

He turned back towards me, his eyes flickering as his mind worked at the question. "Yeah, in the wardrobe in his room," he said slowly, "or at least, last time I checked, that's what it was for."

"So, if we want to get into that wardrobe, we have to do it when he's indisposed?"

"Whoa, whoa," Gob said, holding his hands up to try and slow me down, "going into that wardrobe is like walking into the yao guai's jaws."

"Well, Gob, what else are we to do?" I replied with a little annoyance, "you were the one who brought this up, and if we're to get Charon back, the first thing we're going to need is his contract. If Moriarty is as serious as he seems to be about Charon, then that contract is going to be in that wardrobe. Now, how am I going to get into that wardrobe without being noticed?"

Gob looked perplexed; he made it quite clear that I was more likely to die than get my hands on Charon's contract again, but I wasn't about to back out of this so easily. He sighed, gently touching his face with his hands. "Ah, I dunno... I suppose the best way in is to pick the lock to the back door during peak hours and sneak into his room."

"When are peak hours?"

"Between ten and midnight."

"Gob, I hate to ask this of you," I said, clenching my fists slightly with apprehension, "but are you skilled in picking locks?"

"Eh..." he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck, "I suppose I could be if I needed to."

"I may need you too."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

"Gob, you don't have to do this with me if you don't want to. You're a free man; you can go onto Underworld without me."

"Yeah, I know, but I'm not willing to go all the way there on my own," he said heavily, "besides, Charon is an old friend, even if he doesn't remember me. I'd rather do what I can to help than not."

"I'm glad," I said, offering him a faint smile. "Thank you, Gob. This means a lot to me."

"I certainly hope so," he grumbled. "So, what do you propose we do? We can't exactly steal the contract, then wave it in Charon's face while Moriarty's standing there."

I pondered this briefly before I knew the answer. "We'll have to steal the contract while they're occupied with his customers, then wait until after closing to sneak Charon out."

"Hold on," Gob said, giving me a concerned look, "what if Charon gets in the way? I don't know if you two are close, but I know how that contract works. If Charon sees you trying to steal from Moriarty, he won't so much as blink before he blows your brains over the wall."

I nodded, kneeling down in the dirt, beginning to devise the plan. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

* * *

We stayed hidden at the top of the crater behind the bar for the rest of the day, waiting for night to fall, waiting for our chance to act. I was checking the time on my Pip-Boy constantly, waiting for "peak hours" to arrive with a certain anxiousness I wasn't akin to. I didn't have to check the hour to know when it arrived, though. The roaring and screeching laughter was easy to discern in the darkness of night, and Gob started towards Moriarty's door. "Let me use your knife as a torque."

I handed him the knife willingly, and he drew a bobby pin from within his pocket, suggesting that he either picked locks frequently, or he had an odd fascination with feminine hair care items. I stood by, watching intently as Gob fit the tip of the bobby pin and my knife into the lock, twisting it gently, trying to work the small cogs inside. I frequently threw a glance over my shoulder, worried that someone would chance by us while we tried to break into Moriarty's room (despite the fact that no one had been in the back alley besides us for the entire day). After a long, hard, drawn out minute, the lock _clicked_ tenderly, and the door slowly tilted open, light and laughter spilling through the crack. Gob looked at me with a triumphant grin, and whispered: "I always wanted to do something like this."

He pushed the door open slowly, and he started in, holding a hand out behind him towards me. "You keep watch out here, I'll get the contract."

I knew I could trust Gob, but several things worried me at that moment. I'd always been strongly independent, and I always preferred to do things on my own, so Gob asking me to stay in waiting while he went on alone to find the contract bothered me to no end. Of course, I wouldn't know how to pick the lock to Moriarty's cabinet in the first place, so I would only be a useless body to Gob. Beyond that, a few scenarios developed in my mind; what if the contract wasn't in the cabinet, but on Moriarty himself? What if Charon was standing in wait in that room beyond? What if we were caught and killed?

I tried to steady myself, exhaling deeply and closing my eyes. Things would turn out fine, this was no time to lose my nerves. I never lost my nerves, anyway; I am a cool, calm, collective individual, capable of rational thought and—

Almost as quickly as he'd left, Gob slipped back through the door, closing it gently behind him. I looked upon him eagerly, waiting for an answer. It was hard to see his skinless face in the dark, but I could just make out that smile, and I could feel my heart jump as he lifted the contract in between us.

I could do nothing else but smile broadly then, and it felt odd. I hadn't smiled genuinely in a very long time. Usually, I would offer small grins, but a wide, radiant smile on my face was something out of place for me. Even after all of those happy years with my father, I could only recall smiling like this a handful of times. Why was I so moved by this moment? Getting Charon's contract back into my possession was important to me... but was it this important? What was it that I was feeling?

"Moriarty usually closes up in about four hours," Gob said, leading me back to the spot in the dirt where we had taken refuge for the day, "it'll be best to wait here until then; we can't risk anyone seeing us and blabbing to Moriarty before our rescue mission."

"How did you ever end up a slave, Gob?" I asked, a playful sort of tone in my voice, "you were simply born for adventure, weren't you?"

"I like to think so," he said with a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

Once again, we hid in wait for the late hours of the night, and even though half of the trial had been overcome, I still felt uneasy, on edge; impatient. I wanted to see Charon again quickly, and I wanted to tell him how sorry I was for betraying him so. I think, above all, I wanted to see the man's face again because he had been the closest thing to a friend I had since I left Vault 101. I'd only known him for a couple of short days, and we exchanged very few words, but I still found the need burning at the back of my mind to redeem myself, to have him with me again.

Finally, the sounds had died down, and the clock on my Pip-Boy read three a.m. "That's closing time," Gob muttered, then blew out a breath. We would have to wait until Moriarty was asleep before sneaking past him into the bar. I wasn't certain if Moriarty would send Charon to bed or make him keep watch over the bar during the night, but I was prepared for the latter. If Charon so happened to kill me before I could declare my quest of heroism, then so be it. I would rather die by his hand than by Moriarty's. It was grim, but I found myself putting very little worry to the whole thing. I waited with Gob for another painful hour, while his ear was pressed to the door. "I think he's asleep... well, here's the hard part."

I nodded. "Gob, where would Charon be if he's not on duty?"

"Probably in my old room," Gob said quietly, pointing up, "on the second floor at the back."

"Thank you, Gob." I paused, mentally checking myself. "Gob... I want you to meet me outside of Megaton. I'll go in after Charon myself. If you suspect I've failed... just go. Try to make it back to Carol, for me."

He looked like he was going to argue, but he seemed to decide otherwise. He nodded quickly. "Good luck."

"I want you to take this as well," I said, pulling the .44 from the left side of my hip, "guns are not my forte, and I can't leave you out here knowing you have no way to defend yourself."

He looked at the gun as if it were a small animal I had just sacrificed brutally. I wasn't about to leave without him taking the gun, so I continued in a hushed, forceful voice: "there's only six rounds in it, so use it only as a last resort." I said the statement as a demand for him to take it, not an explanation.

"Okay, smoothskin," he mumbled, taking the weapon from me and holding it in his hand distastefully, "if it'll make you feel better."

"Much better," I affirmed, then gripped the door handle tightly. "Gob, I mean it; if you think I'm dead, run for Underworld, try to make it home."

"As long as you promise you'll make and effort not to get yourself killed."

I grinned warmly at him; he was a good man at heart. "I will."

My hand turned the handle, and I felt the slightest layer of sweat form on my palms. I pushed it open ever so slowly, inching myself forward as I guided the door open. It was dark inside, and I could hear the faint, weak snoring of Moriarty in deep sleep. With careful gestures, I closed the door behind me, catching Gob's eyes for one last moment before he was shut out from me. It was all I could do to hope that I would see him again. After what seemed like an hour, I had crept from Moriarty's room successfully, and I started toward the stairs, clutching the contract in my hand and expecting the threat of death to reign down on me from Charon at any moment.

When I got to the top, I followed the thin hall all the way to the back, following Gob's instructions. All but two of the doors were closed, including the one in the far corner. I tried not to get ahead of myself, and I forced my feet to keep a slow pace as I approached the door. When I approached Charon's room, I had to breathe deeply before I could grab the door handle. He would more likely than not shoot me before he even saw me, but for some reason, I didn't want to hold the contract where he could see it. I think it was perhaps that I didn't want him not to kill me simply because I had that paper. I didn't want him to kill me simply out of the fact that it was me.

I pushed the door open slowly, but not as slowly as I had Moriarty's door. Even though it was dark in the room, I could see his silhouette lying across the bed. Was he asleep? I thought it impossible, but when he didn't get up after I had opened the door, I stepped forward anxiously. Parts of his armour lay on the floor, and his shotgun was propped up on the wall next to the thin, worn bed. He was unguarded. I had waited the entire day for this moment, but I felt I was too much on edge to continue. When I had made it to the edge of his bed, however, he did not stir. I tried to stifle a shaky breath before I whispered: "Charon."

He did not wake, so I reached down to touch his shoulder gently. I knew that the action would result in certain death, but I was just so blind at that moment, perhaps because I was extremely relieved to see him. "Charon," I whispered faintly again as my hand got closer to him.

Suddenly, too fast for me to comprehend, Charon's right arm whipped up and behind him for the shotgun against the wall, and he pulled it forward, aiming at me right between the eyes. I fell in response, landing softly on the bed next to him, and my hand landed on him for support. The barrel was so close to my face, and I could see his hollow eyes staring at me from down the gun. I was expecting that to be the last thing I saw before death claimed me, but he did not fire. I don't know if my surprise was apparent on my face, but we were both frozen for a while before I could muster the thought to whisper: "Charon, I'm sorry."

At this, he pumped the gage, and growled back: "Get out, or I'll bring you to my master."

I expected nothing less; that contract held more power over his mind than he ever could have hoped for, that I could have ever hoped for. I couldn't tell if his true actions were hesitant, or if he couldn't wait to kill me, but at that moment, I'd hoped that he held me in some importance, despite the fact that I had no imperative meaning to his life before, not even with his contract. As I thought these things, I suddenly became aware of my hand on his chest; I could feel his heartbeat beneath my hand, and it was quick, warm, different. I was conscious of this; I never made physical contact with anyone. When I had accidentally brushed up against Charon the night before, I felt like I had been burned, but not in an unpleasant way. It wasn't that I was repulsed by the idea of touching him, I was simply uncertain of myself, uncertain of the way the touch made me feel. Now, my hand on his chest was alive with what felt like electricity. _But why?_

I think seconds went by where neither of us moved, until I had to sort my thoughts and take action. I tried not to make any sudden movements as I lifted my other hand, bringing the contract into sight. Almost immediately, he withdrew from me, sitting up in the bed and lowering his shotgun. My hand slipped from his chest, and I was surprised to find that I felt cheated, like something had been taken from me. However, that wasn't true at all. Charon was under my employment again, as awful as that sounded, and I was that much closer to saving him, saving me. His even face shifted quickly, and he stared at me incredulously. "Kid, what the _fuck—_"

"It was the only way, but I'm sorry," I interjected quickly, trying to stay quiet. I felt immensely better once I got those words off my chest, and I felt myself restore almost immediately. "Now, I hate to sound like a mistress, but I need you to escort me out of Megaton now, as quickly and quietly as possible."

He slipped past me quickly, leaving me sitting on the bed as he silently replaced his armour onto his body. His back was to me, but I could hear the excessive pleasure in his voice when he muttered, "my pleasure."

I rose from the bed, trying to keep my footsteps silent. He quickly donned his armour (why he had taken it off in the first place was odd to me; I'd always assumed he kept it on constantly) then ensured his gun was fully loaded before he walked briskly and quietly into the hall. I followed after him with careful footing, making sure to keep quiet as we made our way towards the front door. Walking down the steps had proven to be difficult; the steel boards were unstable, and stepping on them caused a louder disruption than I would have liked. Charon was like a predator, moving swiftly and quietly through the dark, and I had to put forth my best efforts to keep up after him with an equal silence. When we got to the front door, I heard Charon start to throw the lock upwards, but there was something else hidden beneath the noise. I turned my head in the dark, trying to search for the odd disturbance I had heard, when I caught the gleam of a ten millimeter poking out from Moriarty's door behind the bar.

I barely had time to process what I had just seen when I bounded forward, swiping an empty bottle off a nearby table, and hurled it towards the threat. I heard Charon open the front door and pause as the bottle flew through the air. A small sliver of moonlight filtered into the room, and I could see Moriarty's shape retreat from the door as the bottle smashed against the door frame where he'd been standing. When the bottle broke into hundreds of pieces, the shatter was far louder in my ears than I thought it should have been. Only a second had gone by, but I still didn't fully comprehend the glaring fact of our predicament when Charon grabbed me forcefully by the arm and dragged me out of the bar. We had been caught. We were doomed.

Charon slammed the door closed behind us, and he released my arm to hold his shotgun defensively. I ran after him, my mind numb and buzzing with apprehension. As we ran along the ramp, a bullet flew past our heads, and I ducked in response. Charon didn't so much as blink at this, but instead he moved behind me, turning backwards and holding his shotgun at his shoulder. "Keep moving," he told me, and I did. When we got closer the exit, however, more people started to emerge from their homes, trying to find the source of the disturbance. Moriarty kept firing at us, but he wasn't close enough for Charon to use his shotgun. As more people gathered, the old man shouted after us: "I'll fucking hunt you down!"

Walter, the man who ran the water processing plant, emerged from his doorway just as we ran by. I think I was too far on edge to reason with my instincts, and without so much as a gasp of surprise, I lunged at the older man, stepping in between his legs behind his right foot and shoving him to the ground. He landed heavily on the ramp with a shout of surprise, and I could see his eyes wide with fear in the faint moonlight. Charon grabbed hold of my collar and dragged me away; we had little time to spare. I wasn't even this on edge when I escaped the Vault only months before. Why was I so shaken? I think, above all, I was afraid of failing Gob, of failing Charon a second time. I was more of a hindrance to the man than support. I could see people look up at Charon and I from below as we ran for the exit, and I could only hope that no one else crossed our paths, that the danger would end with Moriarty's fading screams in the distance as we fled. All I could do now was hope for the best.

We made it to the front gate quickly, and I tore it open, Charon following close behind me. In the short distance, I could see Gob standing just before the maze of outcrops that separated Megaton from Springvale, and I let out an exasperated cry. "Gob!" I called, and I could see him shift his hands nervously, the glint of the .44 catching my eye. He was prepared to use it, but I knew he didn't want to. As we neared him, he started into a run in the direction we were heading, and one last bullet flew at us as we slipped between the maze of the outcrops.

"You're a fucking dead man!" Moriarty screamed into the night, a certain shrill rage filling his words. Despite what I wanted to believe, I knew then that my journey with Charon would not be a peaceful one.


	6. The Altruistic Heuristic

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Six: The Altruistic Heuristic

The boards were surprisingly tough for being a couple centuries old, but after a few forceful blows, they fell apart like ash. "Come on," I grunted, letting the kid run in first, then Gob after her. I told the kid that since we were forty minutes outside of Megaton and there was no evidence of a hunting party, that we should hole ourselves up in some sorta safe house for the night. She looked so exhausted, she didn't even give me a full nod. We were slightly north of the Springvale ruins, and a lone house stood boarded up alongside the crumbled road. It would do, we just couldn't all sleep at the same time, someone would have to keep watch. Not that I needed the sleep, anyway. I preferred not to sleep.

When we got into the place, I could smell old death and rot. I may not have had a nose, but I still had a lingering sense of smell. It didn't bother me much; it smelled a bit like Underworld. I wondered how the kid would take to it, but I couldn't see anything out of her. I rarely ever did. It was dark in the house, too; all the windows were still boarded up, save the door I just busted through. The vague moonlight spilled through the doorway, though, and I could see her press her back against the closest wall wearily and slide down with exhaustion. We were all panting, me and Gob especially. Since we didn't have sweat glands, our body cooled down like a dog would, except we didn't let our tongues hang out our mouths. That'd only add to our already fucked up existence. Anyway, I watched her as she hung head with her eyes closed, as if she was trying to collect herself. Finally, with slow movements, she looked towards me, her black eyes looking darker than the house we were in. I stared back, trying to read the familiar blank look on her face. It was almost like that day on the operating table, with her eyes latching onto me desperately. I was taken away from my train of thought when she nodded once. That was what her expression was: relief. We made it out with our skin on our backs. Well, in her case, anyway. "Do you want me to keep watch?" I asked, trying to avoid letting her read right through me.

"I would appreciate that," she offered lightly in return. I nodded back to her, then turned toward the open doorway, making sure to stay hidden in the shadows so that I could see any threats coming before they could see me.

I drifted off in thought for, oh I dunno... an hour, at least. I was completely absorbed with the obsession of scanning out threats, protecting my mistress. I suppose that was the thought that occupied my mind the most during my silent surveillance, the fact that she had my contract again. I only knew her for two days, but those two days were far more liberating than the fifteen years I had with Ahzrukhal. After I started to think of _Moriarty's Saloon_ as my new home in the short few hours I'd been there, it made standing guard in that musty little shack feel like a fucking castle.

I heard footsteps behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder. It wasn't the kid; the steps were too heavy, and I could see her slumped against the wall, out cold. Gob came strolling out of the dark, eying me up and down like I was a hungry animal that'd pounce on him if he got any closer. We looked a lot alike—not that ghouls had a whole lot of variation in their faces—but you could almost feel the vulnerability that rolled off of him. Maybe it was years of being a slave that bogged him down, but I could already tell he was weak, and I could also tell that that was going to annoy the fuck out of me. "Yeah?" I grunted after a few quiet seconds.

"How much do you remember about fifteen years ago?"

That's right, I almost forgot that weird way he stared at me in the bar, the uneasiness I felt at not being able to recall anything when he seemed to know so much about me. I think I was giving him the iciest fucking glare I could, because he seemed to fidget when I didn't respond. "Nothing," I said after a second, trying to put him at ease so he'd stop doing that stupid little shuffle of his.

"I wasn't sure if you would," he said, stepping up next to me and shooting a glance towards the kid, maybe to gage his volume, or to make sure she was actually out. He avoided my eyes when he finally added: "I honestly didn't think you survived the beating."

I obviously perked up at this, but I didn't say anything. I wanted to appear uninterested. Besides, I had no orders on how to treat Gob after we got out of Megaton, despite the fact I knew she'd want me to treat him with "hospitality" or some bullshit like that. I wanted to know more, but at the same time, I really didn't. "Maybe you should get some rest," I suggested, which really translated into: "get the fuck out of my face, you ass."

Gob shuffled his feet. Fuck, I was really starting to hate that. "You're different, you know. I mean, back then, you were pretty closed off and obedient like you are now, but the actual you, this ghoul that hates everything, didn't exist. It's like part of that contract doesn't actually work on you anymore."

I still didn't say anything, but I worked my jaw. "Like that," Gob said, and I had to suppress a snarl. "Back then, you wouldn't even think of showing your aggravation. You didn't even seem human, it was like you were an actual computer. There was no personality to you, you were just some sort of... tool."

I am a tool, I'm fully aware of that. What was this guy playing at? "Listen, I've got no orders to show restraint to you, so either wise up or I'll send you on your way."

I was expecting his feet to shuffle again, but he didn't move. He looked up at me with his filmy eyes before he shook his head. "If you didn't want to talk, you could've just said so."

I hated talking with people. "Just get some sleep."

He turned away from me, and I could almost hear him shake his head from disappointment. I really wasn't starting to like this guy, and I sure as hell didn't want to talk to him, but I felt like he'd been kicking around inside my head. I felt this unfamiliar curiosity start to build. What the hell? I was never curious, I only cared about what my orders were and what I had to be doing next. I would be lying if I said I wasn't interested in my past, but I was. I wasn't about to break down and ask Gob about it, though.

I'd give them a few more hours of sleep before we started moving again; we couldn't stay here forever, not so close to Megaton. Besides, the sooner we made it back to Underworld, the sooner we could drop Gob off and put it all behind us.Well, us as in me, I suppose. I wasn't sure on the kid's feelings. In fact, I wasn't sure if she'd keep me around at all; maybe she'd drop my contract off with someone else and leave me there. I thought I didn't care; I was comfortable as long as I knew who my master was and what his orders were, but I could remember the brief flicker of betrayal that went through me when I saw Moriarty holding up that contract. Shit, I was actually liking my mistress. It shouldn't have been a bad thing, but if she did trade me off again like some sort of pre-war baseball card... ah, forget about it.

After the sun had been up for a few hours, I turned from the doorway to face the ruined house. I could see the dust floating around in the room, along with the skeletons that rested in the corner on an old, dirty mattress. Gob was lying not to far from them, and I would've said that he looked like he died too, if I didn't know he was a ghoul. Direct sunlight fell from the doorway onto the kid, though, and I could see her leaning against the old couch next to her, curled up in a ball. Her face was all tensed up, like she was having a nightmare, but she was motionless besides her slow, even breathing. I moved forward to wake her up, but this time, instead of nudging her with my boot, I knelt down and shook her by the shoulder. She woke up in that same creepy way again, as if she'd been awake for hours and was simply opening her eyes to see me. For someone as young as her, I'd expect temper tantrums and squinty eyes, but I should've learned my lesson about her by now: she wasn't like everyone else. "Charon."

"We should probably get a move on to Underworld," I suggested, motioning with my thumb over my shoulder to the door. She nodded, and got to her feet. "Charon, have you eaten lately? I have some mutfruit if you're hungry."

I suppose I couldn't deny it much longer; I hadn't eaten since she took me out of Underworld. I didn't answer her, though. "Are you hungry?" she rephrased, and since her order to me was to speak my mind, I couldn't exactly lie to her.

"Yeah."

Her hands dug into her pockets, and she pulled out a couple of weathered looking berries. "This is all I have," she said, giving me two and keeping two for herself. "When we make it back to Underworld, I'll buy us a meal."

"They sell spoiled food," I replied simply, throwing the fruit to the back of my throat, "you probably won't like it."

"I have a strong stomach," she replied, smiling a little and putting a mutfruit in her mouth. I watched her as she chewed it, and I had to wonder: just how much radiation was she exposing herself to? I could remember that she'd come out of a vault, so she probably wasn't as Wasteland wise as most other people. People were real careful about what they ate and drank constantly, considering radiation treatment was starting to become a thing of the past. I was going to mention something about it, but then she started over toward Gob. He was a little slower to wake than she was, but he was on his feet pretty quick. After we raided the place for more supplies, we headed out north, while I kept an eye behind us constantly. I didn't know Moriarty long, but I had the feeling he'd be trailing our asses at some point.

The trip would have been silent, considering that was how the kid and I usually got from place to place, but Gob kept piping up between us, trying to strike a conversation. I suppose he and I were on similar ground; maybe he'd been told to keep quiet for fifteen years of his life, too, and he couldn't wait to get it off of his chest. The difference between me and him though was a contract and a pair of balls. Ah, I shouldn't be too hard on the guy, he was a good enough ghoul, but... fuck.

"So, how much did Carol pay you to come get me from Moriarty?"

"Nothing," was her quick reply. She was starting to sound cold again, but maybe it was unintentional.

"Heh, I didn't figure you for the heroic type," Gob muttered, "you seemed pretty self-interested a couple of months back when you wandered in."

"I am."

"Well, thanks for getting me out anyway. I guess I'm going to miss some parts of the place... but it's better that I'm going home, I suppose."

She didn't respond, and I thought that would be the end of it. I was inwardly sighing for the moment of peace again, when she threw a question at him. "You must mean leaving Nova."

"Wh—I—well... yeah."

"I'm sorry, Gob, it never occurred to me." The icy edge to her voice had worn off a little, and she looked at him sideways.

"Nah, I'm grateful you got me out of that stinking hell hole, I just... I know she'll hold up okay with Moriarty, but... I'll miss her."

There was silence again. _Don't do it, kid..._ "I'll keep you two connected," she offered, "you have my word."

Ah, fuck! Why was she starting to become such a saint? When I met her, she was out for no one but herself, save for the fact she was going out of her way for Carol before she went to look for her dad again. Christ, she was instilling hope in everyone now. What was she going to do? Be a fucking delivery girl? Play mailman with love letters in hand, dodging bullets in downtown D.C.? Not to mention, what was she going to do with me? Trade me in for a few caps in order to pay off any supplies she needed in order to get the messages across? _For Christ's sake, kid, quit being such a god damned hero._

"Thanks, smoothskin, but I'll manage," he returned, falling silent. I would've thought the ghoul was crazy, chasing after a woman (even though she was a whore). There should've been no fucking way in hell there'd be a chance between a pair like that. After Gob had been kicked out of _Moriarty's Saloon_ and I took his place, though, I could feel her contempt. She didn't like it more than I did. Who knew, maybe she'd miss Gob just as much as he missed her.

So, every once in a while, Gob would throw in some odd ball comment, trying to get us all talking. I never reacted, and the kid rarely offered a response, but he never gave up. He'd mention things like how nice it was to be outside for more than five minutes, how big the Wasteland was, how he wondered if this settlement was still there and if this caravaner still traded. I was itching for an excuse to shut him up. I suppose to most people's standards, he was being just as quiet as we were, but he was talking far too much for my liking.

After a couple of hours, it was late afternoon again, and we were walking south along the bank of the Potomac. Once again, the kid had the map, not me, so I was trusting her to guide us in the right direction. She muttered something about trying a different route through the sewers, and eventually we came across this out-of-place door that stood out from the riverside, submerged slightly in a puddle. Just then, she dropped something, and bent over to pick it up. "Damn," she muttered. "I'll have to fix this. You and Gob go on ahead through that door, I'll follow behind you."

"Got it," I replied with a little annoyance, and I trudged forward, keeping directly behind Gob. I didn't see what she'd dropped, but it didn't take her long to fix whatever it was. I could hear her stand and follow after us again as Gob opened the sewer door, and I followed him inside. As we walked down the hall, though, I couldn't hear the kid's footsteps anymore, and I looked over my shoulder to see her standing in the doorway. She was looking at something to her left, fear etched in her face. "Kid?" I questioned, pausing in my step and turning back toward her.

She turned her head toward me again, looking like an animal caught in the jaws of a deathclaw. I saw something flicker behind her eyes, some sort of recognition, before she yelled, "keep Gob safe!" and slammed the door closed.

I can honestly say that was the first time in my life I was panicked. All the years I could remember, I'd been pretty comatose compared to that moment. I ran forward toward the door, and I moved to open it, when there was a huge tremor and an explosion. Half of the door blew out, the shrapnel scraping against my skin and muscles before the bulk of the door slammed into arms that were braced over my face. I was knocked backwards, and I could feel the pain in my forearms from the impact; they were likely broken. There was cloudy light filtering in from the top of the broken door, but the light faded out as rubble dropped down in front of the gap. A lot of it spilled into the sewer tunnel, and I sat up to see the rest of it build up behind the door, blocking the exit.

The last thing I could hear was her screaming before the rocks settled in place.

* * *

"Charon, we can't sit here forever."

I don't know exactly if that's what Gob said; I was too far deep in my own abyss to hear anything. I couldn't tell you if we were there for minutes or hours. When we were separated from the kid, it struck me that my mistress wasn't accessible. My contract was gone. I wouldn't have put two shits to this, but I suddenly felt sick, like when I didn't obey instructions. But it got worse and worse, and I started to shake, I started to feel like I was on the verge of imploding, like I was dying an extremely slow, painful death, but death wasn't going to come. I couldn't move, it was hard to breathe; my contract was gone, I was lost.

I was sitting in the small pool of water, leaning against the wall with my legs drawn up and my arms draped over my knees. I could feel the radiation tingling faintly in my broken forearms, healing the bone, but that was the extent of my grasp on reality. Gob's voice was kind of far off and dull. Maybe I didn't want to hear him. I think if I could've, I would've torn the ghoul's throat out, so it was better that I was caught in my own personal hell.

"Agh, god _dammit!_" I think he said, before I felt a pretty dull thud where he kicked the wall next to me. Yeah, fuck. The kid used to be out for herself, now she was sacrificing herself for our sorry asses, except she left me without a mistress, she left me without my fucking contract. It was like my soul was taken and crushed to bits right in front of me. I was barely aware of Gob sliding down the wall next to me, or the water ripple out as he settled in the puddle.

"Do these tunnels lead out anywhere?" he might've asked, but of course I didn't answer. I didn't actually know if the tunnels would go anywhere, I thought maybe we were stuck inside this dead end sewer tunnel for the rest of our unnatural lives. That option bothered me little, 'cause my contract was gone. What the fuck is going to happen to me?

"Charon, this is about your contract, isn't it?" I lifted my head a bit at the sound of the word "contract". "Sheesh, I guess it does still have a bit of a grip on you."

The silence was so loud, so heavy, I recoiled into myself further, afraid of myself, afraid of what was happening to me. It was a piece of paper with some nonsense bullshit on it. Why was it such a big deal? I couldn't pull myself out of that hole, though. It kept clawing me down, and oh God no I can't get back up—

"We have to try and get out of here, we have to go see if we can help her."

I drew my hands up over my head. I would've liked to say I was at least a little worried about the kid, but my missing weight was so much more heavier, so much more noticeable, so much more painful, I want out I want out I want out!

"Hey, pal, if we find her, we might find your contract, right?"

I heard the word again, but I barely caught the faint words. "What?" I rasped in a low voice, lifting my head from my hands slightly.

He didn't say anything right away. Maybe he was caught off guard that I actually spoke words. "If we look for the girl, we can find your contract. It's the least you can do, right?"

I could practically feel myself being lifted out of that hole in my head, and I got the strength back to pull myself out of my fetal position. I could find the contract. The idea made me so fucking disgusted with myself; I needed to find a slip of paper in order to feel normal and safe, but it was a thought that was a lot better than the one involving me waiting to die in a sewer because there was no contract around to make me feel whole. I looked at Gob, and in the dark I could see him shift away from my gaze. It was ridiculous how timid the man was, but his suggestion made me feel like a million caps.

"Let's go."

I stood up, stretching my arms to make sure they were healed before I headed down the dark hallway. Gob scrambled up behind me, and our feet splashed around the water in the dark. I held out a hand to the wall, and used it as a guide through the pitch black sewer. After we rounded a corner, Gob started speaking again.

"What do you think happened to her? Raiders? Moriarty's thugs?"

"I don't know."

"How the hell are we going to find her?"

"I don't know, Gob, shut the fuck up." All I needed to do was look for my contract, and I'd start to feel better. I'd feel like Jesus Christ himself once we found the god damn thing. I didn't care at the moment what happened to the contract, only that I needed to know where it was.

"It's a little weird we don't know what the smoothskin's name is, isn't it?"

I paused, whirled myself around, drew my shotgun, and pointed it in Gob's face. It was dark in the hall, but I could still see him go stone pale. I didn't have time to spout off a warning or a threat to the guy, though, before the sickening feeling came back and doubled me over. I stumbled backward from Gob, dropping my gun in the shallow puddle of irradiated water and collapsing against the wall. I was growling and clutching my head, trying to keep away from the unpleasant pressure. That's right, the kid gave me one last order. I didn't know if she still had the contract, or if she was even alive, but that last moment was the one truth I knew, and it was a lot more comfortable to believe that she was still my current employer, and that her last order to keep the good for nothing Gob safe was still in effect. Of course I couldn't draw a gun on the ass. Bad fucking move, Charon, don't try that again.

"Gob, do me a favour," I grunted, straightening as I picked up my shotgun, "try to keep the chatter to a minimum, yeah?"

"All right, all right," he mumbled, "sorry."

"Just to keep you happy," I started as I made my way down the hall again, the pressure receding slowly from my head, "I'm gonna try to find us a way to the surface again, then we'll head back to the sewer entrance and try to piece together a trail."

"Sure thing."

My hand reached out in the dark and touched the cool metal of a door. I found the handle after groping around for a minute, then pushed it open, a bit of light reentering our vision. I held my shotgun comfortably in my hands, eager to keep off any hostile targets from Gob, anything to ease the pain that sat lurking at the back of my head, waiting to pounce. But when we walked through the halls, weaving our way back to where we were separated from the kid, Gob's observation started to get to me. I should've probably asked my mistress's name, but the thought never crossed my mind to ask in the first place. And, yeah, with the pain from losing my contract dulled, I could honestly say that I hoped she was still alive out there, I still hoped she was my mistress, so that I'd get the chance to ask her name.


	7. Propinquity?

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

_P.S. I use a reference to my favourite Youtube show, "The Allen and Craig Show", and I thought I should disclaim that right now, too. Look it up, if you're interested. Pretty funny stuff._

Chapter Seven: Propinquity?

The world came rushing back like breaking the surface of water for air, and the pain returned steadily, seeping into every part of my body. I was vaguely aware of a heavy, thick choker around my neck; a slave collar, no doubt. My surroundings were dark, cold, and inhospitable; I was placed next to a barrel in a run-down ruin, and the Geiger counter on my Pip-Boy ticked lightly while I was seated next to it. The slavers had chained me inside the slave quarters next to the pile of radiation waste. Either it was their wish to kill me, or to punish me dearly for something I wasn't aware of.

My memories of what had happened over the previous ten hours was fuzzy at best. However, those first moments that I realized we were doomed were vibrant within my mind. The tunnel was dark, but I could see Charon looking back at me. Was it concern in his eyes, or was it annoyance? I knew it was the latter, but I'd hoped for the former. I think it was at that moment that I recognized the importance I held for Charon. He was a despicable, hostile, and crude man, but I suppose he had his reasons. I'm sure I wouldn't be the most appreciative individual as a ghoul. Despite his harsh mannerisms and suggestive contempt for me, I longed to be near him, just to know we would be safe. Safe... were they hit by the blast of that grenade? If they were unharmed, did my last request stand?

A wave of nausea washed over me from my belly to my chest, and I heaved violently, puking up the little contents of my stomach onto the dirtied ground next to me. A small waterfall of acid poured from my mouth, and I spit up the last of it, feeling the burn up my throat. I was starting to get sick with radiation poisoning.

I put this worry from my mind as the sting from the acid began to dull in my mouth, and weakly tried to crawl away from the irradiated waste in the corner. The greater of my worries was the fact that we had been ambushed by mercenaries, and they had sold me to slavers. Furthermore, I didn't know what my future was, and I didn't know if I'd ever see Charon again.

When Gob and Charon went into the entrance of the sewers, I caught something out of the corner of my eye, and at first it didn't offer any importance to my thoughts until I got closer to the door behind my ghoul companions. It was then that I saw someone dart up from a pile of debris. I looked over to my left, trying to decipher if what I had seen had been a trick of the eye or a possible threat, when I suddenly heard the thick _thud_ of the grenade as it hit the ground a few feet in front of me.

"Kid?" Charon called after me, and I looked towards him. I think at that moment I was trying to absorb him one last time; I wasn't sure if I'd ever see him again, I thought I would die. Within the same instant, my mind came up with the haphazard plan to shut the door and run. At the time, my rattled thoughts may have believed that would protect them from any harm. I had the chance to help someone besides myself, and I took it without a moment's hesitation.

"Keep Gob safe," I ordered as a last minute thought, and I slammed the door closed before I dashed in the opposite direction. The grenade exploded even before I could get four paces away, and I felt heat as the back of my body was scraped from shrapnel head to toe, none of it major, and obviously not fatal. I fell to the ground, shouting out hoarsely from shock (the wind had been knocked from my lungs as I struck the ground so suddenly, robbing me of my ability to scream). I tried to get to my feet, tried to crawl away, but after several moments, I felt two strong hands grasp me by the shoulders and flip me over.

"No," I growled, and I knocked away at the crook of his right arm, trying to break his hold on me so that I might take the element of surprise, but I was too wounded, to weak and slow to attack him properly. He staved off my blow easily, then punched me in the jaw. I stopped feeling it after the third blow, and by the fifth I was out cold, but my memory of their conversation shifted in and out.

"She's not even on the bounty. The contract calls for the ghouls."

"Maybe we can use her as bait for the other two; you know, lure 'em out."

"Yeah, great fucking plan. Why the hell did you throw that grenade if they were already _in _the sewer? Think they'd eat their way through the rock to get back to her?"

"So, I was a little delayed! We got this out of it, didn't we?"

There was a pause. "Yeah, and she's not worth a fuckin' penny. What now, Sherlock?"

"Hah! She's not worth a penny to our contractor, maybe, but she might be worth a sum from the slavers."

Another pause. "Yeah, I suppose that's an option. She'd make quite the slave. But here's the kicker, Allen; that means we have to go out of our way to Paradise Falls to drop her off. And even then, the dickwads might not even take her. They usually only do business with other contracted slavers, not mercs."

"So, you wanna camp out here with her until the other ghouls get here, or you wanna try and make some money?"

"Oh, fuck all that's good and holy, fine! Pick her up, you carry her, since you're the one who threw the grenade in the first place."

"Ah, fuck, you're such an asshole, Craig."

I could barely feel motion, like I was being carried off the ground. I was only aware of feeling in parts of my body, on top of the hot throbbing that pulsed on the skin on my back and calves. There was more talking, but it was mostly faint. Through all of it, I heard: "we always accept business in Paradise Falls."

So, that was to be my fate, then. Condemned to a life of slavery, wondering for the rest of my short days what had become of my father, what had become of Gob, of Charon. I supposed I didn't care much about myself then; the only thing I could think about was if they had made it, if they were all right. The blast was fairly forceful, and I knew there was no way that old steel door would hold out, but I ignored these facts. They had to be okay, they had to be on their way to Underworld right now.

That was when my eyes shot wide and I stopped breathing momentarily. I didn't give Charon the order to take Gob to Underworld. Oh, God. What would he do with my charge? Why had I been so careless in my last moments? Even if Charon still followed my orders, I had no idea if Gob would make it back to Underworld. My sacrifice would have been in vain.

"She hasn't got anything on her, man," I heard someone say from outside the door, and I recoiled upwards, fighting the pain as I forced myself to crawl as far away from the door as possible.

"What about that Pip-Boy on her arm?"

"We don't know how the fuck to use it!"

"She's gotta have something in that Pip-Boy, just fool around with it."

"Don't think I have?"

"No, I didn't think you did. Know why, Jotun? Because you're a fucking dumb ass, that's why."

The door opened then, and a blast of evening light hit me in the face. I flinched, closing my eyes and trying to shy away from the light. I might have groaned a little, but I tried my best to hide my weakness, fool them about my discomfort. I knew it would do little to help my situation, but it was all I could do to retain any honour I might have had left.

"You," one of the silhouettes said, and approached me casually, "you've got shit in that Pip-Boy worth somethin', don't you?"

I didn't reply. I kept trying to shy away from him, crawl back towards the wall. He got close, and he bent over to grab me roughly by the collar of my ruined hoodie. "What's in the gadget?"

I wouldn't say a thing. I didn't care what he did to me, I didn't care if he cut off my arm to try and get the things out of my Pip-Boy, because I had Charon's contract in my Pip-Boy, and I would not lose it, not again. I would keep him as close to me as possible; it was the only comfort I would have left in this place.

"Gimmie that," the man said, his hand darting out of my left forearm, pulling my Pip-Boy into his face. He jabbed a few buttons, staring at the green screen of my tool with pointed eyes. His black skin had an emerald shine to it, and I could see the confusion and frustration etched in his face. Pip-Boy use was minimal in the Wasteland; there was no way he would figure out how to access my inventory and recall the items properly. He wouldn't take Charon away from me, not while I was conscious and able.

"To hell with it," he growled after a moment, throwing my arm away, "we'll just wait 'till Morgan gets back."

"Why wait for the tech?" the man at the door asked as the other retreated from me. "Why not just beat it out of her?"

"No, Eulogy said we can't touch her, not that one. If she had bruises on her, it'd lower the cost."

"So? I don't care if a bitch is broken and scarred, I just need her to be—" the door slammed shut behind them, momentarily muting the man's voice. "What if she's got caps in there, man?..."

At least I knew Charon was unobtainable by the slavers, at least for a little while. Sickness still plagued my body, and I slowly slid down the wall onto my side without noticing it. The ground was dirty, cold, but I didn't take notice. I felt so sick, and I could feel dry heaving coming on. _Charon..._

* * *

We eventually found a detour hall that led into one of the underground metro tunnels. It was by sheer dumb luck; I didn't think we had a chance of getting into the train station from there. The only thing on those tunnels were packs of feral ghouls, but all of them watched us from a distance, eying us hungrily and screeching out of threat. I kept making sure Gob was on my heel, even though I knew the ferals wouldn't dream of attacking us. But my sickness was uneasy, and I wanted to make damn sure that fool wasn't going to get himself into any sort of shit I couldn't stop first, not if it meant being pulled down into that hell again.

I know I said I didn't care for talking with this guy, but I eventually had to tell the sorry sack my plan. "I'm not bringing you to Underworld," I said, breaking hours of silence walking through the tunnels, "I'm going after my contract, and I'm supposed to make sure you're safe in the mean time, so you're coming with me."

"Well, I figured that," Gob said back to me in a grumble, "besides, I wouldn't go back if you sent me, I wanna help you find the smoothskin."

"Good." I actually didn't care, but I rather he agreed than me having to convince him otherwise. I didn't know how long it would take us to get back to the entrance of the sewers, but each second I went without knowing where my contract was felt like an eternity.

Silence came back comfortably this time, but I should have known better than to expect Gob to let it come back. I'd broken the peace, and he was eager to mess it around some more. "Charon, don't you care the least about that kid?"

Ah, for fuck's sake. I shouldn't have explained myself to the bastard, or else we'd be walking in silence still. Ah, silence, I took it for granted. I only realized I did in moments like these. "You know what, Gob, that's not a conversation I want to get into right now."

"Because, you know, she seems self serving, but I think she's a good enough person underneath it all."

I groaned, rolling my eyes. I would just let him talk like a fart to the wind, I didn't want to exert the effort trying to get the message across that I didn't want to talk to him. I thought I'd already made that clear, but I suppose I couldn't expect that much from Gob.

"I suppose out of all the smoothskin's I ever dealt with, she was the nicest. Every asshole in that town gave me shit all the time, 'cept her, and maybe Nova. She didn't seem to care much about me, but she never had any judgments either. I hope she's okay."

Jesus Christ, I wanted to keep my mouth shut. "Me, too."

"Really?" Gob said, "that's a surprise, coming from you. You know, I used to get the same vibe from you, when you were a smoothskin."

So, I'd like to say I've got this hard, unwavering reserve, that I didn't give a shit about my past or Gob's involvement in it, but I paused in my step, and Gob came to a halt behind me. He probably thought I was gonna turn on him and give him hell, because he started blabbering: "hey, you know what man? Forget I said anything—"

"When was this?" I said, relatively calm for my usual attitude toward people.

Gob shuffled his feet again. Fuck! "A few years back. I mean, before I was sold. Last time I saw you, you just started turning."

I never put any thought to it. Memories of my life consisted of being a ghoul, and I barely even considered that I'd once been human. I shuffled my feet, kind of like Gob, but I turned to look at him, my rheumy eyes trying to read him without accusation. It was mostly because I didn't want him to do his stupid little nervous dance. "You knew me when I was human?"

"Sorry, I—" he faltered, then sighed. "Yeah, back then, you were a smoothskin. You were kind of like the kid in a way; cold-shouldered, indifferent, but it was still better treatment than everyone else gave me, save the fact that I was a slave."

I stared at him. It wasn't much, but it was hard to take in. I was a human at one point, I didn't look like a walking corpse... why couldn't I have died? On top of being some sort of tool tied to a piece of paper, I was a fucking ghoul; my life was as shitty as it could've gotten. "Let's keep going." I wanted to ask him more, but I didn't. I didn't know how.

"Yeah."

I couldn't bog down my curiosity with my distaste for Gob anymore. Before it'd been annoying jabbering, but now... a human. I guess I had to be one at some point. Fuck my life.

It took about an hour before we found the top again, and all that time was spent in silence. We didn't meet one threat out there. It would've helped make me feel better, take the edge off a bit, but I suppose I hope too much for my own good. It was early evening, as the sun was close to setting, and it made shit worse; I hadn't a fucking clue where we were, and being lost at night was like trying to sneak up on a deathclaw to pet it.

After a while, I decided that going through another subway might lead us to the outer reaches of D.C., where we could make it back to Tepid Sewers's entrance. I felt like saying a couple of things to Gob once in a while, but I decided against it. Who knows how much talking he'd want to do if I encouraged him. I suppose I was starting to hate him less, though. Not like him more, but hate him less.

When we rounded a corner into a generator room, we came face to face with a small group of mole rats. Sure, they were just mole rats, but I could've been laughing with glee, I was so happy to shoot at something. I got one before they could think of rounding on us, then I blasted the second when they started charging. The last one jumped through the air at me, and I stepped back to plant a blow into its head with the barrel of my shotgun, when the entire thing just about exploded in my face. A loud _bang_ went off in my left eardrum, and I side stepped, leaning away from the source of the noise, cursing up and down. There was blood on me, I was sure I'd gone deaf, and I didn't get to kill the last mole rat. "What the fuck?" I spat, standing tall and looking at Gob. He had the .44 in his hand, and he still held it up, like he was still prepared to shoot. I thought for a brief second that he was planning on firing at me, but I realized he was just paralyzed with the fear that I was about to turn on him. I think I was pissed off and shocked at the same time; he took my kill, but he could kill well with a gun.

I wanted to tear him a fresh one, but I didn't. "Thanks, I guess." Where did that come from? I could've taken care of the mole rat just fine myself, but I guess he meant well. Fucking stupid, though.

"No problem," was his shaky reply. He wasn't expecting that from me, either. I was just full of surprises.

After another hour, we came up to the surface next to the remains of an old major highway by the Potomac. I immediately started south along the river, Gob walking briskly behind me to keep up. I wanted to get back to the entrance to find out what happened, I wanted to find my contract _now_.

It was night by the time we got there, and I knew we were in it deep, but I couldn't give up now. If the dark bothered Gob, he didn't complain. If he did, I would've snapped at him to keep his hole shut, anyway. As we got close, I saw that the side of the hill had been blasted apart where the door was embedded, blocking the path. I wondered how far away the kid got before the grenade went off, if she died slowly, or if she made it. I remembered those screams... I could have never imagined her screaming, not the hard, tough-as-nails bitch she was. Screaming meant she was alive, but it was... ah, fuck, it was _terrifying_. There, I said it. I was worried.

"Well, do you see anything?" Gob mumbled as we stood there before the blasted-in sewer entrance, looking at the scattered debris of dirt and rock from the grenade explosion. I sighed heavily, like how I used to sigh to myself when some dick was trying to rile shit up in the Ninth Circle.

"No."

"Ah, crap."

I rubbed my eyes, feeling the little remains of my skin scrape together. What the fuck did I expect? I suppose our little detour was the only way for me to keep myself distracted, to keep myself sane.

Well, what probably happened? Probably an ambush from mercenaries hired by Moriarty. That was fast. In any case, it had to be someone who was stalking us for some reason or another, and it had to be someone who knew what they were doing. So, if the kid survived, where would I find her? Where would a couple of mercs take a girl? Maybe the bounty was for her head, or to take her back to Megaton to Moriarty... but I couldn't risk going back there. Not with Gob; I'd undo everything that kid worked for.

Then I heard something. "Gob, stay put," I demanded, and he stopped pacing. I strained my ears, listening intently to the sounds around us. I swear I heard a shuffle that was out of place with Gob's movements, some sort of slip or shifting—

There it was again. I pulled my shotgun, and charged to my left, towards where the grenade must have been thrown from originally. There were a few piles of rubble, but I was able to hear where the noise came from. As soon as I got close, some guy jumped up from the closest pile, holding a combat shotgun towards me. I blasted a cap, pellets spraying across his chest and right arm. He called out in a short sort of yelp as he staggered backwards, and I closed the small gap between us, swiping at him with the butt of my gun. He fell down with another muffled cry, and I pounced on top of him, holding my shotgun aside with one hand and choking him with the other. He had dark armour on, with a white claw spray painted on the top corner. He was a Talon merc. Motherfuckers, I heard about 'em before, but I never had the pleasure of choking one.

"Where is she?" I growled, shaking his head for emphasis. His left hand flew up to try and throw my grasp off, but I was a little stronger than him. Not to mention I'd just blew pellets into his right side, so he was probably at a disadvantage in our little confrontation. He squeaked a bit in response, but he didn't say anything coherent. I was going to ask him more forcefully again, when I considered that I was probably choking him too much for him to talk. I loosened my grip a bit, then asked him again: "what'd you do with the girl?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm gonna pop you're fucking eyeballs out by your throat if you don't smarten up," I threatened, squeezing his throat harder than before. His legs flailed about a bit underneath me, and his face started to turn purple while his eyes grew wide. I let his throat go again, then waited for him to speak. I didn't want to have to repeat myself.

"Selling her," he gasped, still trying to fight me off with his left hand. He was repressing some groans from the pain, but he was being pretty tough considering the shit I was putting him through. "Slavers."

I had to stop myself from brutalizing the little fuck. Something like anger came over me—no, it had to be fury, berserk, raging madness. I was confused as to why I was so mad, I thought maybe it was because my contract was potentially in the hands of the slavers once again, but I didn't think that was the root cause. I gritted my teeth hard and tensed my muscles to keep myself from killing the merc; I still needed answers from him. "When?"

"My partner went a few hours ago," he managed, then coughed a bit. Some blood came up. "He's on his way there."

"Why?" I snarled. It wasn't important to know why, but I asked before I could stop myself.

"Wasn't on the bounty," he wheezed with labour, "it was for you and the other ghoul."

"Who?" I squeezed his throat again, shaking him as I questioned him, "who sent the bounty?"

I already knew, or at least, I thought I knew, but I wanted to hear him say it. "Someone in D.C.," he said through gritted teeth, struggling under me to try and get me to ease up, "In Underworld."

Oh. That was a fuckin' surprise. Someone in Underworld sent out a bounty for Charon and Gob, huh? This was priceless. If I was furious before, I was going feral now. I lifted the guy's head up a foot off the ground, then slammed it back down again. He cried out again, his face contorted with pain. Why the fuck would another ghoul do that? Did the guy have some sort of grudge against the kid?

"It wasn't to kill you," the guy managed weakly, his face still screwed up and his teeth still gritted tight, "it was to bring you back alive."

"And the girl?" I spat in his face, "what did she have to do with it?"

"Nothing," he nearly shouted, losing his constraint. He must've been under a lot of pain at that point. "That's why we're selling her."

"You lousy fuck," I hissed under my breath, "fucking burn in hell."

I lifted my right hand off of his neck, made a fist, then knocked him out. I let his neck go, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. I was shaking with rage, and I had to sit on top of him for a few moments to collect myself. Of course I would've gotten angry at the guy, but I thought that I was a little _too_ angry. I knew all too well, though. I was really worried about the kid. I was worried that she had gotten herself killed, but now that I knew she was being sold off as a slave, I was even more stressed out about her. Even though she probably didn't have my contract anymore, I'd still have to look for her to track it down. It was beyond that, though; I genuinely wanted to find the kid and help her ("save" her sounds to cliché). When Ahzrukhal had my contract, I wouldn't have had wants to express. That kid changed me, helped me realize who I was without even trying. I had to help her. I needed to. I wanted to.

I stood up when I felt I had myself in check, and I turned around. Gob was standing there with the pistol clutched in his hands, looking at me with this dumbstruck look. "Shit," he muttered.

"You remember where Paradise Falls is?"

"Yeah, it's to the north," he said sheepishly, pointing in the direction. "We're not... we're not going after her by ourselves, are we?"

"Yeah, we are."

"Charon, hold on a second," Gob said in his weak voice, holding out a hand in a pleading gesture, "I can't go back there, Charon, they'd lock me up in a second. If someone recognizes you, they might—"

"That's where my contract is," I said bluntly, starting off north past him, "and since you're still in my charge, you're coming with me."

"Is that all this is about?" Gob called after me, "your fucking contract?"

"No," I said quietly, so that he wouldn't hear me. I stopped on my tracks and looked at him. He stood on the spot, holding his hand and the magnum out in a way that suggested disappointment. "Gob, we're going now."

"So, what, we're just gonna barge in the front door and demand the platinum blonde girl back?"

"Not exactly."

"You've got a plan then?"

My face twisted with a bit more rage as I thought about what those fuckers were doing to her, and what I was going to do to them. "Yeah."


	8. What Happens in Paradise, Stays in

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

_About Pip-Boys: They aren't removable. At least, not without losing a limb. It's said in game by Stanley, but a few people don't come across this tid bit. Biometric seals bind the Pip-Boy permanently to a vault dweller's arm._

Chapter Eight: What Happens in Paradise, Stays in Paradise

The door swung open at around eight thirty the next day. Another silhouette stood in the doorway; it was one of the same men from the day before. He walked toward me slowly, but I didn't not flinch away from him. I was sitting in the middle of the room, trying to escape the unpleasant warmth of radiation that seemed to come off every inch of the walls, and the light from the doorway fell across me like a judgment call. I could only see his outline, but I could feel the smile on his lips. Whatever was about to happen to me wasn't going to be pleasant.

"Your grace period's expired," the man said, coming to a slowing stop right in front of me. "Mr. Eulogy wants to see you himself."

I didn't look up at him, I kept my eyes glued to the door instead. It was my way of showing that I wasn't going to submit, not that easily, at least. I'd like to say that I would have a stronghold on my will power, that I would not falter, even in torture, but I wasn't so sure what would happen to me. I wouldn't give up for as long as I could, though. I wouldn't give up so that I could keep Gob and Charon safe.

"Get up."

I kept sitting. He lifted his boot and shoved it forcefully across my chest, knocking me over. I fell on my back heavily, but I refrained from making any sort of noise that would suggest vulnerability. He grasped me by my hair, and I yelped as he yanked me up onto my feet. I couldn't help it; the pain was intense, and it was an automatic reaction. When I was standing on my feet, he grasped a handful of my hoodie, then slapped me with the other hand. "If you're gonna be an ass, I'm gonna be fucking ruthless with you. Understood?"

I kept silent again, and he shook me violently, growling ferociously. I locked eyes with him, trying to appear fierce with my unusual appearance. Most people found my stare intimidating simply because I had eyes like the pools of hell. At least, that's how Amata put it once. After our eyes had been locked for several moments, I nodded thickly once, my face unchanging.

"Good. Now come with me."

He let go of my hoodie, but his hand locked onto my shoulder, and he pulled me along as he brought me outside. The light hit me like a punch in the face, at it hurt more than the sting in my face. I realized I had healing bruises on my jaw from where the mercenary had knocked me out, but I must have been given a stimpak to clear the damage, for my face felt as if it were already on the mend. The burn in my back from the shrapnel was dull as well. The only thing that remained more prominent than ever was the uneasy feeling of radiation sickness that I had. I had nothing in my stomach, so the risk of spilling sick over myself as I was dragged from the slave pen was minimal, but I felt like another round of dry heaving was coming on. My eyes were squeezed shut from the light as I scrambled across the slave pen, and I couldn't see anyone as he took me to the door, but I could hear them. Just the way they shuffled their feet toward us as we passed sounded like a plea for help.

"Back the fuck off," the slaver demanded, and I could feel him shove off a few slavers with his free hand. I could hear the sounds of assault riffles being cocked, and the rush of feet as he slaves scampered away. A gate squealed open and he led me through. Someone slammed it behind us. I opened my eyes by a sliver to try and see my surroundings, but it came out as a blur. As I was adjusting my eyes to the light again, I was surrounded by dark once more as we entered another building.

"Mr. Eulogy," the slaver said in a lame attempt at a formal tone, "I brought the girl."

"Thank you, just show her to her seat, please." The voice was smooth like velvet, but it was so coy, so deceptive. I was at the hands of a very ill willed man.

My eyes were open wide enough to see the room again. It was expansive. A bed sat in the middle, and I could see two figures draped across it. I assumed they were two women. There was a single lamp hanging from the ceiling that spread light across the middle of the room, but the corners were dark, impossible to see.

The slaver shoved me down into a chair roughly, and I didn't bother exerting restraint. I expected that to be the end of it, but he suddenly threw a rope around my chest, and I was squeezed to the chair as he tied a few secure knots around the back. With my arms held in place, another rope wrapped around my legs and the legs of the chair. I kept my eyes hooded and down cast as this took place, but when I heard the heavy footsteps across the floor, I looked up quickly, before I could even gage the sound and my reaction. Heavy boots. It sounded like Charon.

My eyes grew wider and my mouth parted in anticipation while I peered into the dark, waiting for him to approach. How could he be here? Why? The slavers didn't get a hold of my contract somehow, did they? I felt excitement and dread at once for my friend, until I caught sight of the man as he came from the shadows. There was no Charon. I felt a weight on my chest, something akin to relief and disappointment.

The man that walked toward me was tall and dark, and he wore a long red suit jacket and slacks. Not quite business wear. He looked more like an exaggerated character, like he was in a clown outfit, or something of the sorts. My thoughts returned to the women on the bed, and I knew his suit wasn't meant to project a comedic feel, but an authoritative one. He had a black goatee and a shaved head, which gleamed in the light, and his eyes were dark. They nearly rivaled mine.

The slaver stood next to me once he finished binding me to the chair, and the man (whom I assumed to be Eulogy) waved a hand to the slaver. "Thank you, Forty, that will be all."

Forty moved away from me towards the front door, and I averted my eyes from Eulogy to the floor. There was silence for a moment, save for Forty's steps as he walked away. "Look at me," Eulogy said quietly, almost even politely. I supposed being difficult at this point was not going to benefit any of my goals, so I looked up to him. He seemed to search me for a second. "My, you really are something. Very unusual, but pretty." One of the women snickered behind him on the bed, and I looked over to her. She had a slave collar attached to her neck.

"What's your name?"

I didn't reply. I waited for him to beat it out of me, if it was that important to him. "You know, I read this old pre-war book once," he continued instead, "it was on ocean life. I've often wondered if any of the fish survived the bombs, what they'd look like now. Especially one of those things they called a mako shark. Those were terrifying motherfuckers. If it wasn't their jaws you caught sight of, it was their pitch black eyes. That's what you remind me of: a shark. Sharkeyes.

"But, that's not why I brought you here." Eulogy walked away from me towards the bed. The girls shifted out of the way slightly, and I noticed guns attached to belts on their hips. Eulogy sat on the bed, about ten feet away from me, then continued: "I understand you were traveling with some interesting people."

I kept myself as calm looking as possible, but my heart started to race. _Oh, God..._

"A lonely merc brought you in here, but he struck up a conversation with my old friend Grouse. Turns out he had a bounty on two ghouls. Also turns out that he and his partner found you walking along with them."

I don't know why he paused, maybe he was expecting me to say "I don't know what you're talking about", or perhaps he was letting things sink in, giving me time to realize there was no fighting it, because he already knew. I already knew what was going to come of this. "This wouldn't be anything interesting, but he described the two ghouls he was after, and the short sob story that went along with it. Turns out that those ghouls are old... acquaintances of mine, you could say.

"So, here's the deal, Sharkeyes," Eulogy said, clasping his hands in front of him, "you're going to tell me where one of our friends is, _both_ parts of him, and I'll spare you a whole world of pain."

"That's your only threat?" I said with such cold calculation, "pain and suffering? Very one-dimensional."

"Well, someone like yourself might say that, but someone like yourself probably hasn't been through hell. It's easier to dismiss something unfamiliar than to accept it."

I stayed quiet. "Our technician won't be back for another few days to search your equipment, and I'm very impatient. I want that contract now, and if you don't give it to me, I'm going to take your fucking Pip-Boy off by your arm."

I didn't so much as flinch at this. I really was indifferent to my own fate at this point. I never knew a time when I was so careless about my own well being. It must have started during my first weeks out in the Wastes. But maybe... maybe I truly realized where my priorities laid once I had found companionship for the first time in months, be it as fake and forced as it was. I couldn't fathom where I stood with Charon, but I knew how I felt about him. He didn't really do anything, but he helped me realize what I'd been missing in myself for the past two months. I thought it would be helping Carol that would make me feel human again, but it was him.

I think I grinned a bit as I stared at the floor, for Eulogy seemed to be furious about my mocking silence. "I'm gonna say it one more time," Eulogy demanded with a flat tone filled with rage, "give me that contract, or I'll end you."

"Mr. Eulogy!" Forty came calling, his voice akin to something of urgency and excitement, "Mr. Eulogy, someone's here you oughta see!"

Annoyance was the first look on Eulogy's face. Forty stomped thickly into the room, and Eulogy got up off the bed, a near snarl on his lips. "I'm busy, Forty."

"But, Mr. Eulogy," Forty said, his eyes snapping between his boss and I, "it's that guy from the Jersey band," his voice wavered as he lowered it to a near whisper, "it's the last one."

I didn't have to know that much information about Charon to know it was him. I'd kept relatively neutral in my state of emotion up until that point, but my face fell and my heart started to race. It meant that he was alive, that the blast hadn't killed him, but it also meant he had walked willingly into the beast's maw. He wasn't trying to save me, was he? Barging in the front door of a slaver town was not the method I would have expected of him to do so. It was then that the realization donned on me that he did not come for me, but for his contract. I had forgotten all about it's implications and powers over him. I remembered him saying how important it was to him; he must have been losing his mind not knowing where it was. But how did he find me? How was he even sure I still had it?

I saw Eulogy look at me with such an expression, I felt he had looked inside me and saw what I was feeling exactly. It looked like surprise, but most of all, it looked like mockery. He could tell this was my downfall, that I had lost the fight before it had begun. "Sounds like our mutual friend, doesn't it, Sharkeyes?"

I didn't even bother countering with my own defence at this; he already saw my distress. Eulogy walked forward towards me, and he brushed a lock of my hair away from my face. I looked away, but I did not let him see it bother me. "Forty, take her ropes off. We're going for a little rendezvous with our friend."

My nostrils flared as I tried not to inhale sharply. Once Charon saw me, there would be no hiding the contract. They would have us both in their trap. I should have been more careful. I had failed him again.

* * *

"Charon, what the hell are you doing?"

I didn't answer him. I kept marching up to the front gate of Paradise Falls, feeling more and more anxious as we got closer. Would my contract be there? Fuck, I hoped so. Most of all, I hoped she still had it.

"Charon, they're gonna know who we are! We can't go in there!"

What the fuck else was I gonna do? Stage an ambush against an entire town of slavers? Not likely. I couldn't leave Gob behind either; it made me more comfortable to have him in my sights than stashed away in some nook. If it meant we'd get enslaved just so I could watch him, it was fine by me. I mean, yeah, I'd like to say I could do more to help her, but there really was no other choice. Besides, I couldn't sit around forever hoping my contract would fall into my lap. I'd have to improvise until then.

"Shut the fuck up," I threw over my shoulder at Gob, "don't say my name. Just play cool with this."

"Yeah, but—"

"Don't make me say it again."

I'd finally found the opening in the fence when I growled this, and I could see the sentry walk around his little fort, an assault rifle in his hands. He had ammo wrapped around him like a fucking rope, but it was more ridiculous than intimidating. He stood between us and the path that led to the front gates, with his feet spread slightly apart and his chin tilted upward. Trying to be a fucking Alpha dog, eh? Shit head had another thing comin'.

"What the hell do you want?" The guard barked, inclining his head toward me.

"I had some merchandise stolen from me," I said flatly (as flatly as my grating voice could get). I folded my arms in front of me and stopped five feet away from him.

He shook his head. "A ghoul with merchandise? I don't buy it."

Well, the kid wasn't my merchandise, but my contract was, so I wasn't totally lying. "Silvery blonde haired kid," I stated, "black eyes, stands up to my shoulder. Lost her sometime yesterday to a Talon merc."

"Get the fuck out of here," the sentry barked, waving a hand, "I don't do business with zombies."

"So she's here," I grunted, glaring the guy down. "I want her back."

"Look, pal, even if that bitch was your property, she ain't now." I squeezed my fists into balls. "Besides, there's no fucking way a girl like that'd belong to two piece of shit ghouls."

It was then that I caught the guy staring at us from over the sentry's shoulder. The guy was walking toward the front, probably to relieve the other slaver, when he seemed to just pause in his tracks. He had really stupid looking hair with a bushy dirty blonde beard, and he wore just as equally ridiculous armour as his sentry coworker. But the way he was staring at me was what I caught first—that look could mean a whole shit load of trouble for me and Gob.

The guy in front of me stopped talking, but I didn't notice. I'd lost myself to a few seconds of thought on what that expression on that guy's face could mean. "You listening, pal? I said get lost."

"Grouse!" the bushy guy yelled, "escort these guys in, will ya?"

"Fuck off, Forty!"

"I'm serious, Grouse, or I'll have you deloused with the other slaves."

Grouse made this real ugly face, shaking his head toward the ground. "Yeah, sure thing."

"Wait for me out front."

"Whatever."

So, the bushy guy (apparently named Forty) turned on his heel and jogged into town, but he kept his eyes on me. I watched him, too. I knew I was screwed at that point; Gob was right, I was recognizable. I didn't think it'd be likely, though. If I'd been gone for fifteen years, how would someone still be around to recognize my ugly mug?

"Come on, you lousy bastards," Grouse grumbled, waving his gun through toward the front gate. I knew now wasn't the time to give some cheek, so I followed the guy through the path quietly, and Gob followed. The moment I stepped past the wall, I got this weird feeling of déjà vu. I couldn't place it, but I felt different, like I'd stepped out of my own skin for a couple of seconds. I shook it off, following Grouse down the path toward the front gate.

Grouse was mumbling under his breath, but I didn't pay much attention. Probably bitching about how he'd been undermined by that bushy numb nut Forty. I didn't blame him, I wouldn't want to answer to a guy like that. At least Ahzrukhal wasn't a total loss for smarts like Forty seemed to be.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Gob grumbled from close behind me as I followed Grouse down the path.

"Stuff it."

I felt him tense up behind me. "We're screwed."

When we got to the front gate, Grouse kicked it with a heavy boot, probably to get someone to open it again, then turned around to face us. I could picture Gob darting his eyes around, trying to avoid the guy's glare, but I kept staring evenly at the guy. He tilted his chin up a bit again, and his nostrils flared as he worked his jaw. "You a rep for some sort of regular here?"

"No."

"Forty doesn't act like that around anyone. You must be some sort of celebrity then," Grouse finalized.

"I don't know yet."

"You don't—tck, fuuuck, man." Grouse let out a lame laugh and shook his head, turning away from us. The gate started to pull upwards, and we stood waiting for it to be drawn all the way up. When it was a little bit higher than his waist, Grouse bent over and ducked through. Gob and I followed, though I had to wait until the gate was a bit higher before I could bend down to cross over. The moment I stood up again, I saw Paradise Falls for the first time in fifteen years. I couldn't remember why, but I could feel the uneasy feeling growing in my stomach. It was like the opposite of nostalgia; the moment I walked in there, I wanted out. I could hear Gob shuffling his feet again. Suddenly, I wasn't so mad at the guy for it, I leveled with him.

"You must be more popular than you think," Grouse said, his voice thick with annoyance and surprise, "you got the big cheese out to see ya."

I looked up beyond all the junked cars and pre-war crap to see some clown in a red silk suit making his way toward us with a little pose hot on his heels. I could see two women in pink dresses walking at his side, guns held tightly in their grasp. Obviously, I took to this with a rather humorous attitude; the three of them looked like a traveling circus band. I could barely make out Forty behind them, but as they rounded the bend, I could see him dragging along a tall blonde girl.

I think I choked. I must've done something that might've given us away, because I felt Gob's hand grasp at my arm. I shoved it off roughly, but he helped keep me in check. I tried best I could to hide the anger that was bubbling under my skin, to fight off the urge to whip out my shotgun and shoot them all down. After all, the kid's safety was in jeopardy, along with my sanity. I didn't know which of these fucks had my contract, or if they knew what that would mean just yet.

"I never thought I'd meet you in person," the guy in the red suit said, his voice projecting over the junkyard of a town as he came closer, "I also never thought you'd show your face around here again."

I didn't say anything. I was too preoccupied with watching how that dirty bush bastard tugged the kid around. His words did get to me, though. Who the hell was I?

"You look a little different from the pictures, though," the guy said, stopping in front of me. "The name's Eulogy Jones; after my late daddy, may his soul rest in peace."

They all came to a stop, and the kid stood up as much as she could, but Forty held her arms down. I saw her look up at me, but there wasn't any panic in her face. Our eyes connected for what might've been too long, when I saw her shake her head the slightest bit. I looked away from her, trying to figure out what it meant. So, I said the only thing I could say to fill the gap.

"That kid's mine," I said as smoothly as my raspy voice would allow, "stolen by some mercs. I want her back."

"Oh—ho, that's rich," Jones said, chuckling a bit more, "because I'm pretty sure you belong to her."

Ah, fuck!

"Oh, and you," Jones said, motioning behind me towards Gob, "I remember you; I was just a tyke back then, but you're still oh-so-familiar, Gob. Christ, it just might be my lucky day!"

I looked to the kid again. Her eyes were downcast, and her face hung low.

"I understand ghouls call themselves by new names once they've turned," Jones said with a bit of a sly grin, "what do they call you now?"

"Charon."

"I can't remember what they called you before," he admitted, waving a hand in front of his face. "But it's not really relevant, is it?"

Gob shuffled a bit behind me.

"Well, now that I have one half of you," Jones continued, turning to the kid, "I'll give you one last chance to tell me where the other half is."

She didn't move or look up. Shit, that kid had a reserve too strong for her own good.

"All right," he said, then nodded his head toward me. Two shotguns were held up to my head. I was a little caught off guard, 'cause I didn't even see the other slaver come up to me opposite Grouse. Maybe he'd been there all along. In any case, my first reaction was to start fighting. A part of how my contract worked was leaving me indifferent to life or death. I was simply a tool for fighting and what have you, I wasn't meant to care about my own well being. I would still give a shit if some asshole threw me into some fucked up situation knowing that I'd likely die, but my life didn't matter as long as I had the comfort of knowing who held my contract and what they told me to do. I didn't fight back, though. I wasn't sure what they'd do to her if I fought back, and as far as I was concerned, she was still my mistress, and having someone harm her was a discomforting thought. It went beyond all that contract bullshit, though. Even if she didn't have it, I'd still be worried about her.

The kid looked up then, and I saw that same look spread on her face from when the mercs attacked us. Her eyes went between the shotguns and my head, and her entire being seemed to be weakening. Oh, no. She was going to break.

"Please," she whispered, and it was the first time I'd heard her voice go all weak and afraid like that. She didn't even sound that way when she started crying a couple of nights before. "Please, I'll give it to you, just don't... don't..."

"Hah!" Jones laughed out loud, the kind of laugh that someone would give if they won something out of blind luck, and the shotguns were pulled away from me. "I didn't think it'd be that easy! Looks like Sharkeyes is a little sentimental about her property, isn't she?"

I really wanted to punch the fucker (or worse), but my common sense told me to stay put. Forty let go of her arms, shoving her to the ground (which made me rage like a caged animal) and he pulled a pistol from his belt, holding it to her head. At this point, I could see a bunch of slavers gathering around in little pockets around the town, watching the whole thing unfold. The kid didn't so much as look at me when she hit the keys on her Pip-Boy to recall my contract. I had this sinking feeling in my stomach again when I knew that I wouldn't be able to help her once that paper was gone out of her hands. I'd be gone. But I can't lie to you; once I saw that contract materialize in her hand, a staggering amount of relief washed over me, and I felt myself pulled away from that abyss for good. I hated it.

Her hand was shaking slightly as she lifted it up, and Jones took it from her fingers so gently, it was mocking. Everything I'd known with her went washing away so easily again, like washing away some dirt off your hands. It was still there, but I could do nothing about it. I would not. Jones waved the paper like a fan, smiling at me deviously. I stared at him blankly, my mind waiting for instruction. After a short chuckle, he looked down at the paper. "Scavo," he said with triumph, slapping the paper like he'd just been reminded of something wonderful, "that was your family name."

It moved around in my brain, but I didn't let it show. Jones just smiled at me, then turned to Forty. "Put a collar on my old buddy Gob there."

"Certainly, Mr. Eulogy," Forty said with a greasy tone that made even me cringe, then grabbed a collar from his belt, moving past me toward Gob. I didn't hear him so much as shuffle when Forty slapped that thing on him roughly. It was depressing. It was like a hunter knocking its prey to the ground, and the animal gave up trying to fight for its life, just lying there while the predator had its fill on its flesh. I think I felt a little for Gob; it was my fault he'd been brought back here.

"Charon, I want you to escort my friend Sharkeyes here to the slave pen."

"Yes, Eulogy."

I always thought about having a different master than Ahzrukhal like a man might think of fucking another woman besides his wife, but I was starting to hate the idea of variation. Besides Schafer and the kid, I hated my employers immensely. I hesitated the slightest bit when I moved forward towards the kid. She was still slumped on the ground, and her head was hung low again. I grasped her by the arm (and my hand felt itchy, like I'd burned it a bit) and hauled her to her feet, dragging her towards the pen. I heard Jones tell Forty to take Gob too, and I was cursing him a mile a minute in my head. My hand kept on itching as I dragged her to the holding pen, and the entire time I was pleading with her in the back of my mind, hoping somehow she'd hear me. _I don't want to do this to you, I don't want to do this to you..._ but she never looked up. Her head hung low the entire way there.

* * *

After Gob and the kid were in the pen, Jones waved me over to his "pad". It was really a rotting house just off to the side of the slave pen, and every corner seemed dirty with radiation. I stood inside the doorway to his bedroom (I assumed it was a bedroom because it had a bed in the middle) waiting for any sort of instruction. It's hard to admit, but I felt so sane, so comfortable standing there waiting for Jones to give me prompt. He walked off to the middle of the room—I wasn't too sure what he was doing, but something else caught my eye. There was this picture hanging on the wall next to me, and before I knew what I was doing, I looked the thing over. It felt familiar to look at, but I couldn't recall anything about it. There were about ten or so people standing around in power armour, all shouldering assault rifles and laser guns. I scanned over the faces, that odd feeling turning around in my stomach again, until I came across the last guy on the end. He was taller than the others, and he had this squarish face and short brown hair. I realized it was me.

"I barely remember you, I was a kid at the time," Jones said, waving away his two girls in pink to the next room, "but I heard lots of stories about you and your kind. Orphans brainwashed into adulthood from somewhere called Jersey. I never found out where that was, but it wasn't important. You have no fucking clue what you're worth, do you?"

I reluctantly tore my eyes away from the picture. "No."

"You're the last one," Jones said, sitting on the bed in the middle of the room and throwing his hands up into the air. "Laaast one. All the others were sold off to rich and stupid Wastelanders who didn't use them properly. You were the lucky guy that stayed behind here in Paradise Falls and lived. I guess the locals didn't take to you changing into a ghoul, because they beat the living shit out of you. I mean, _beat_ you. You weren't supposed to survive, but they threw you in the slave pen near the radiation growth, and you healed up in a couple of weeks. You just didn't remember anything when you came to, or so I'm told."

I felt that pull again. It was there, somewhere in my mind, but I couldn't remember it. It was blocked by a giant brick wall, and there was no way around it.

"You spent a couple of weeks in the slave pen, and a couple of the slavers decided to see if they could sell you off. Didn't want no ghoul in their service, after all. Eventually, this guy Schafer came in and claimed your contract, after a hefty penny of course.

"I'll say it again, I was too young to remember any of this shit, but my daddy kept a journal about all the purchases and sales made in Paradise Falls. You wanna know what it said about Schafer?"

"No." I really didn't. I felt I'd been led too far into the water, and I was going to be taken out by a tidal wave soon if I wasn't careful.

"Go to that computer terminal," Jones said, pointing behind him, "and read the note 'July 16th, 2262'."

I started over to the terminal obediently; it was in the far corner away from light, and the green screen blinked continuously. I'd never used a terminal, but I'd watched Ahzrukhal fiddle around with his enough times to get the gist of how it worked. I sat down at the chair, then scrolled through the notes, selecting the date he'd mentioned. I wasn't really looking forward to reading the note, but I did it, feeding off that comfort of sanity it gave me.

_July 16, 2262:_

_That brainwashing bastard Schafer scrambles up out of a hole somewhere out in the Wastes, his pockets filled with enough caps to put me out of business. Instead, he forks them all over to buy back what he'd made in the first place. I think the poor bastard went soft. Probably felt guilty for what he'd done in the past, and wanted to make things better again. I don't know what he plans on doing with that brainwashed ghoul, but I suppose it's none of my business, not now that I'm thousands of caps richer. If I were to bet my pretty penny, though, I'd think he's taking the chance to redeem himself or some shit, maybe see if he can fix what he broke in the first place. Fucking hypocrite; first he plucks them out of the Wastes, brutalizes them into blindly following a piece of paper, then tries to erase it all. Agh, I never want to know what they do down in Jersey for fun._

_Confucius Jones_

That brick wall in my head got knocked over like a toothpick in a storm after I read that note. It was a lot of information I a rush, like a waterfall trying to squeeze everything between two pebbles. I could remember Schafer from the beginning, back when I was a kid, back when I'd been tortured, conditioned. I could remember the others, how they were auctioned off so quickly, but most of all, I remembered me. My indifference, my lack of personality; I was a plain tool, I wasn't human anymore. I was a slave, I was Scavo.

I wanted to read the note again, but it wasn't in my orders to do so. I kind of sat at the chair, dumbstruck, not knowing what to do next. When my skin started to flake off and my voice started to get raspy, they beat me, but they weren't intending to kill me. They would've just shot me in the head. I could remember everything... fuck. I felt like I'd been thrown against a wall and splattered against another version of myself, and now there were two lives, two sets of memories. Everything I'd done, my apathy—I didn't even have the slightest of opinion when I'd been ordered to brutalize a family. I simply clung on to how comfortable it was to follow orders—

"Are you doing reading, Charon?"

"Yes."

"It's a damn shame the locals didn't keep you around. They should've known better than to judge a book by its cover. You're something else, partner, you know that?"

I _was_ something else. Who am I? I felt so confused, so torn—this wasn't me, but it was—what the fuck do I do?

"I thought I should share that with you, put us on the same page," Jones said. I could hear triumph in his voice. "You can stand down for now, Charon. Go relax at the bar or something; I'll let you know when I need you."

"Yes, Eulogy."

I got up off the chair and walked from the room. Once I got out of that musty house, I didn't go to the bar. I went to the slave pen instead. I didn't have the keys, but it wasn't my intention to go inside, anyway. I stood in front of the chain link fence, looking in. Gob and the kid sat together, but neither of them saw me. No one was paying attention to me. I watched them for a while, trying to keep a hold on who I was, what I'd done. I gave a crap about those two, didn't I? _Fuck, kid, why did this have to happen?_ I desperately wanted her to know my thoughts, but she couldn't. After a few minutes, I had to turn away. I could remember the weight of the collars; Schafer's so called "buddy-buddy" relationship with me; her eyes on mine. They were black, but there was a lot in them. I was scared then, because I wasn't sure if she'd be in my future after that. Three days and she already became the most important person in my life. _Kid... I wanted to say... _What did I want to say?


	9. Bittersweet Rivalry

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Nine: Bittersweet Rivalry

When I was a kid, I'd lost my parents to some raiders who were scampering for supplies, and a few days after that, I was picked up by a slaver cult. Schafer was with them. They seemed nice enough, but they started to beat me, torture me, and for some reason, they were always shoving a piece of paper in my face with some writing on it. I grew up conditioned to follow anyone who had that piece of paper, and that way, I felt a lot better. We were trained to use power armour, be the best of the best. I can remember each of the other kids I grew up with, but I can also remember my indifference towards them. I didn't care about anyone or anything besides that contract; I'm sure they felt the same. I can remember all the strict details on it, too. I had a hell of a time after reading that note in Jones's office trying to remember who I'd been before I'd stumbled into Paradise Falls for the second time in my life.

A couple of days passed before anything eventful happened. First, their tech Morgan came back to town, and that in itself was anticlimactic. He was some asshole no one actually gave a shit about. Pretty weak willed guy. He was worse than Gob was, if that were possible. He did take out every penny that kid had, though. I saw him come back from the slave pen, four suitcases in hand, and a few small leather pouches. After that, though, we got a fucking godsend. Or at least, opportunity came knocking.

Jones had me keeping watch over the slave pen, just to give Forty a break. I didn't see Gob or the kid; I think they were inside the shack that was attached to the fenced off shit hole. I'd been hoping Jones would send me over here, or at least give me another load off, just so I could see if she would look at me. I slept a bit in between, but any chance I got, I was watching the pen. Either she was in the house, or she never looked up. I don't know if she knew I was there or not, but she probably did, and she probably couldn't look at me. I didn't blame her, but I hoped she'd give me a glance. Man, I was getting pathetic.

Anyway, I was standing there by the pen when shit started. It was sometime in the afternoon, and Grouse was calling for Forty. I didn't glance over; I was supposed to keep watch on the slaves, but I listened to the confrontation.

"Hey, _FORTY!_"

"I'm on a fucking break man, what do you want?"

"Go get Mr. Eulogy," Grouse barked, "we've got trouble."

"Why don't you go get him?"

"I'm not even supposed to be away from the fucking gates, you moron," Grouse yelled, "there's a Talon company on our doorstep, and they're out for blood."

I was wondering what would happen with that. I think I settled with the idea that the Talon company wouldn't even bother going near the slavers and piss them off by trying to pry their bounty out of the gates. I guess people weren't kidding when they said the Talon company took all the contracts the other mercs wouldn't. Now they were prepared to paint the town red just to get me and Gob out? I'd never pictured a sweeter painting.

Forty was all quiet for a second before I heard him leap off his bar stool and scamper over to Eulogy's cardboard mansion. These pricks wouldn't know how to keep their cool in any sort of situation; a radroach could scamper through the camp and everyone would lose their shit, shooting at anything that moved. I could hear a couple of the other slavers start mumbling amongst themselves, drawing their guns and cocking the barrels, reloading the chambers. Fucking idiots; as much as I loved combat, even I had enough common sense to know when it was okay to pull my gun and when it wasn't. A fire match wasn't going to be smart, not with the mercs.

One or two slaves looked interested, trying to crane their necks to see what was going on. They caught me staring at them, though, and they looked away pretty quickly. I wasn't trying to make them feel sheepish; I was just as interested as they were. I wanted to know how Jones was going to handle this. Most of all, I was interested in what was gonna come out of this when the mercs found out Eulogy Jones's personal bodyguard was their target of interest.

I heard a couple sets of feet come out of the old house, then I heard Jones call after me. "Charon, come with me." His statement kind of ended on a high note, almost like a question. Either he was super pissed and trying to hold it together, or he wasn't sure what he was going to do. I turned from the slave pen, uncrossed my arms, and started off behind Jones's little train. Other slavers started to trail behind him too, and I was pretty sure the entire town was following behind us.

We got up to the gate, and this time they'd left it open. I'd always wondered why they insisted in closing it every time, despite the fact they knew they would be coming back within a few minutes, but I guess they got sloppy this time 'round. When we rounded the gate and headed toward the outer wall, I could see the mercs coming up the path, pushing aside Grouse on their way up. There were about ten of them, one of them sporting bruises and a closed eye from where I'd beaten him. At those figures, we were evenly numbered.

I could see Jones tense up the moment he saw the mercs marching in towards his town. He started shaking his head, and he held out his hands like a peace offering. At least Jones was trying to go about this in an intelligent fashion. "Gentlemen, gentlemen; let's not take this out of hand," he said, strolling to a stop. The mercs (who all stood together like an arrow head) came to a stop about ten feet away from Jones, their guns hanging loosely in their grips. A few of them were staring right at me, and a couple more started to look around at each other, shifting their weight on their feet. They recognized me.

I came to a stop a few feet behind Jones, and two mercs near the front pointed to me, while one of them said: "we've got some business with your slave, there."

A lot of people tended to have business with me nowadays. I didn't show any signs of being bothered by this, but Jones did. "Any sort of business in Paradise Falls can be run by me," he assured, though his voice was grated. I could tell he really didn't want to be dealing with these merc bastards.

"Eulogy Jones, right?" the guy with the bruises said, his mouth sounding like it was filled with cotton. "Turns out you enslaved two ghouls on a very, very important contract to us. We want them back, no trouble needed."

"I'm sorry, friends, I can't do that." I could tell Jones wanted to say a few more choice words, but he was treading carefully over really fucking thin ice. He knew a bloodbath with a bunch of trigger happy mercs wasn't the best of strategies. At least, I hoped he knew this. I didn't take Jones for a dumb ass, but I'd been led astray before.

"Look, why don't we strike some deal?" the other merc that had pointed to me before interjected, "maybe—maybe you got some old business that needs taking care of. We can do a fair trade for the two ghouls."

"Hold on, hold on, son—pump the brakes," Jones said with a chuckle lacing his words, "we don't barter business in Paradise Falls, we barter caps."

"Come on, Eulogy; we don't want any trouble, and handing over those ghouls now will save us both a ton of caps and blood."

"If you're gonna be a fucking smart ass, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave," Jones said flatly, clearly getting more annoyed. He was letting it slip. If he wasn't careful, he was gonna fall into the ditch of the Point of no Return.

"Gentleman, this is a lost cause; the amount of caps you'd need to buy back these slaves is probably more than you're being paid to begin with. Let's just drop this and move on, shall we?" _Good recovery_, I thought, _almost fell apart there, Jones_.

Some mercs stared at me, some stared at Jones. They were clearly furious. I could see that the guy I'd beaten to a pulp had rounded up all of his buddies just to come here and get us back, and they'd all had probably been dragged from their own contracts just to finish this one. Whichever bastard in Underworld was paying for this bounty, it must've been pretty fucking big, just to get all these clowns to march into Paradise Falls and demand us back. They weren't about to back down. I knew they wouldn't.

"All right, Eulogy," the cotton-mouth guy said, "no hard feelings."

"Good to see we're on the same page," Jones said with a grin. I didn't buy it. The mercs must've known that more man power was in the back of the town, and blowing their way through it would obviously lead to casualties, despite the fact that they were more skilled in combat than most of the slavers combined. I knew without a doubt that they weren't going to pull out that easily. They'd jam themselves up Jones's ass for days before they backed out of this. I would've told this to Jones, but I wasn't on any instruction to say anything, not unless he asked. Thank bloody Christ I didn't say anything; it would have screwed everything over. Nothing that night would have happened the same way. Jones wasn't totally lost to the idea that these guys weren't serious about backing off, but if I'd said anything, the mercs would have never stood a chance; Jones would've blasted them out of the water right then and there. We would have never escaped.

"See you around," Cotton-Mouth mumbled, then all of them turned and funneled back toward the sub gate. Grouse was still standing off to the side where he'd been pushed, holding a pistol at his hip toward the flock. He looked really, _really_ fucking mad. I could tell this wasn't the guy who got pushed around very often, and he wasn't taking to it one bit. I could practically see the steam blowing from his ears. His chest rose and fell with exaggerated breaths, and his mouth was pulled taut across his face. He wanted to unload on those motherfuckers. I suppose he was like me, in a way, save for the contract. He knew better than to fuck up Jones's plans. When the group of mercs got closer to the gate, Grouse started off behind them, marching real slow and deliberate like. Forty strolled after him slowly, too, holding his assault rifle loosely in his hands.

"Charon," Jones said as the last of the mercs trailed off from view, "come with me. The rest of you, stay on guard tonight, just for extra measure."

He was gonna need a whole lot more than that.

* * *

Jones knew I was trained for combat, but he considered me highly valuable, too valuable to put in harms way. So, he had Forty and Grouse keep watch out front, while all the other slavers kept to key points in the town. I was by the slave pen again. I suppose he figured that if the mercs were to somehow get past all the other slavers (if they actually decided to attack), I'd be the last thing they'd get to, considering I was half the prize. The whole thing seemed funny to me, though; If I took a shit on the ground, it'd be more valuable to Jones than half the slavers combined in the town.

I was to stand facing away from the pen, looking towards the path to the front gate. I wanted to glance over my shoulder every now and again though, just to see if the kid was there. She was so close, within a few strides reach, but I couldn't see her. I hadn't made any sort of contact with her for days, and yeah, I'll admit, it made me antsy. I wanted to hear her say she was okay, even through I knew she wasn't. Was she sitting outside the house right now, watching my back? I didn't care if it was daggers she was glaring at me, I just wanted to know if she was looking my way or not.

There were a few individually generated lights set up along Paradise Falls, along with some flaming barrels. The light it gave was dim, lost to the overpowering dark of the night, but I could still see that slaver chick strolling up to me. I'd seen her on the way in a few days before, then here and there when I was watching over the pen. Her head was shaved, save for two wisps of hair at the front, which she turned upwards into little horns. I thought she looked like a fucking retard, but all the power to her, I guess. She had a nice figure, but she wasn't attractive. I mean, sure, I'm a ghoul, but I still had my standards on bone structure—it was the last thing ghouls had left to base beauty off of. Her eyes were kind of squinty, and her cheek bones were a little too jagged where her jaw was a little too small. Her clothes, not to mention, were filthy rags. Once again, yeah, being a Wastelander wasn't a fashion show; you wore what you found, and you went with it. I guess what I'm trying to say is: I didn't like the bitch, not since I first saw her. I could tell she was an evil scumbag, just like Ahzrukhal.

"So, you're Eulogy's new play thing, huh?" she grunted to me in a rough voice, like she was trying to be macho while retaining some of her femininity at the same time. She walked up next to me (lumbered up next to me is more accurate) and stood facing the same direction I was. She leaned against the chain link fence that preceded the slave pen, folded her arms across her chest, then rested one boot against the wall. I didn't even bother looking at her, but this didn't discourage her. "The name's Red. Carolina Red."

"Don't you have a post or something?"

"Hey, fuck off! Take it easy, tough guy," she barked, pulling a cigarette from one of her dingy pockets, "my post is right over there," she struck a match, holding it to the smoke that was held loosely in between her lips, "I can see it just fine from this spot."

"Go away." I was being very polite for my standards, obviously. I would've sworn her up and down under normal circumstances. I felt watched, though, so I kept it civil.

She snickered. "Hey, I like you. Strong silent type. 'Course, you could do with some skin and hair, but the height'll make up for it."

"Go—" I growled, shoving her away by her shoulder, "—away."

"What's the fucking problem, asshole?" Red sneered, holding out her hands in a defensive gesture. Her voice was muffled by the cigarette she held so steadfastly between her lips. I didn't look at her. I stood straight again and brought my eyes back to that point in space where the path to the gate disappeared behind a burned and gutted car. "I'm practically throwing myself at you, and you act like a dick!"

"There a problem, Red?" some blonde burly guy muttered from up ahead. He was stalking toward us, glaring me up and down. Gah, for fuck's sake, this was the last thing I needed.

"Yeah, there a problem," she slurred, "numb nuts here doesn't know how to treat a lady."

_A lady?_ "That so," the blonde guy replied. Fucking piece-of-shit dick weed slavers—

The blonde guy stood less than a foot from me, peering up into my face. I peered down at him, just to piss him off or intimidate him, whichever happened to come first. "You'd better watch yourself, ghoul," he breathed. Fuck, his breath probably stank more than mine. "Just because your Eulogy's new favourite doesn't give you superman status."

"Just get back to your post," I growled one last time, looking away with a roll of my eyes. I was getting awfully tired of this nonsense bullshit.

"Your loss," Red whispered to me as she walked off, "probably the last offer you'll get for the next fifty years."

"Go fuck yourself," I muttered. She didn't hear me. The blonde guy walked with Red back through the dark, whispering together in angry tones. No one ever liked me in my life, save for Schafer (supposedly), and maybe Gob, so I wasn't surprised to hear them cursing me to all sorts of shit under their breath. I didn't care very much, either. I was wondering what the kid was cursing me to, if she was even thinking about me, when the mercs made their first move.

Somehow, without anyone noticing, one of the bastards climbed atop one of the tall walls on the southern side with a missile launcher. A fucking missile launcher. I didn't see him once it fired; he was probably propelled off of the wall in his own stupidity, or in his own sacrifice. The missile whistled through the air before it collided with the small watchtower down the path, blowing the iron work to bits, and sending the slaver on top flying through the air like a rag doll along with pieces from his own missile launcher. I had to admit, after the initial shock wore off, I appreciated the scum bag merc's strategy: take out the strongest point first in a ridiculous—but effective—sneak attack. I pulled my shotgun and dropped to my haunches immediately, holding my weapon to my shoulder. I scanned the area quickly, trying to see if there were any more threats within my aim, before I took off down the dirt path. I made sure I wouldn't get too far from the slave pens, though.

The other slavers started shouting to each other while cursing the air blue, and some of them took off down the path toward the front gate. Red and the blonde guy were running past the junked car ahead of me, when I noticed a small fire coming from its front. I didn't know anything about pre-war artifacts, but I knew that a fire in an old machine like that wasn't going to end well.

"Over there!" I yelled behind the two jackasses, and I threw myself behind the wall that led to the bar at the back. Neither of them got the chance to even pay attention to what I was trying to say, because the next thing I knew, the car blew up, sending flames and debris flying in every direction around the town. I felt scraps of metal pound into the wall behind my back, and I saw bits of flaming car shoot past. A few pieces dug themselves into the generator lining Jones's house, and the lights went out.

"_Fuck!_" I heard Red yell, followed by her vicious screaming. The other blonde guy didn't call out. He was probably dead.

"What the fuck is going on?" some guy said from my side, running from the bar. He threw a drinking glass of scotch to the side as he pulled out his shotgun, looking down at me.

"Mercs," I grunted, standing up and checking my weapon for flaws, "ambush."

"Fucking Christ," the guy growled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then pumping the gage on his gun.

"Fucking _bastards!_" another slaver yelled, then gun fire opened up. The mercs were in Paradise Falls.

"Cover me," the slaver growled, then ran around the corner. Big mistake. Jones was the only guy who could make commands of me, not this dirty slaver ass. I was still checking up on my shotgun when the guy went guns blazing into a fight.

A few seconds later, Jones came bursting through the front doors of his house with his two bodyguard slaves at his heel. He had two .44s in his hands (he took the one Gob had when the ghoul got the collar put on him) and his eyes were buggy and real frantic. I caught his eye from across the way, and he started off toward me, the girls running right behind him. A few bullets whizzed past them as he caught up to me, and one of the girls got clipped in the leg, and she fell to the ground. Jones didn't so much as look back for her.

"Charon, I want you to cover the pen," Jones demanded, ducking behind the wall. The blonde girl stooped beside him, loading her pistol.

I nodded, stalking off backwards toward the pen again. He must've had an obsession with those slaves, or some sort of worry that I was gonna get clipped in battle, and wanted to keep me as far back out of harms way as possible. As I walked backwards, holding my shotgun high, I could see a few mercs in hand to hand combat with the other slavers. A few more were having a gun fight from behind a few piles of junk, but none of them bothered to shoot me. That or they didn't see me. When I'd backed up to the gate, though, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye to the left. A few mercs were dropping from the top of the wall, landing ungracefully into the dirt. Like I said, the Talon company weren't known for their stealth. I stayed put where I was, but I pivoted and took a shot towards the fools. I was a little far away to cause any serious damage, but I clipped one with a few pellets, making him stumble over a bit. They started towards me, drawing assault rifles. I sidestepped away from the gate slightly, moving in order to make it harder for me to hit. For mercs, they seemed to have piss poor aim, too. As I was walking away from the pen, one of them missed me and shot at the gate, chewing the lock to bits. They were getting closer now, and I opened fire again, unloading the remaining four shots at them. After the fourth shot, one of them was still standing, and resorted to staggering towards me, throwing aside his rifle. I closed the gap between us, swiped my shotgun upwards, and knocked him cold. I reloaded my shotgun, then started stepping backwards toward the gate again, when I heard a distinct _squeak_ from the hinges of the gate behind me.

I turned around, holding my shotgun up, coming face to face with the kid. Hah, this was starting to become routine. I'd pull my gun on her, expecting to be some sort of threat, and she'd stare at me with those slightly widened eyes. I saw more movement, and I twisted from her to the rest of the pen. Gob was standing at the gate, and he was holding it open for the other slaves to file through. They all paused, staring at me, probably expecting me to fire. How the hell did they get through that gate? I stopped trying to sort things out, and I turned from them, bringing my eyes back to the fight ahead. I felt like the kid was going to say something to me, but she didn't. Hell, I wanted to say things to her, too, but even if I could, I probably wouldn't. She moved past silently, and a trail of slaves stalked after her, their heads low and their steps light. Eulogy had ordered me to cover the pen, not stop the slaves from escaping. I was following orders exactly.

Gob was the last to pass through the gate. "Charon?" he whispered, but I didn't acknowledge him. "Thanks, buddy." I wasn't doing anything for him, but if it made him happy, I'd let him believe it. I kept scanning the area for threats as he rushed off behind the slaves. The kid ushered them behind the same wall where I had taken cover a few moments before. All the slavers and mercs had been fighting up close near the front gate, and nothing reached me from back here. Everyone had a weak strategy; they were pitting themselves up close and personal, with no sort of cover or distance in order to fight properly. At least, that's how things were at that moment. I could see a merc hobble up the path with a large launcher perched on his shoulder. It was a mini nuke gun.

What in fuck's name were these crazy ass mercs thinking? Why the hell would they drag a fat man all the way to Paradise Falls just to get two ghouls back? Why would they act like such stupid fucking morons? "Heads up!" I shouted from where I stood, but no one heard me. No one but the kid, that is. From the faint light of the fire barrels, I saw her silvery blonde hair whip around as she looked to me. She peeked over the corner, and she could see the gleam of the fat man by the faint light, too. The guy got down on one knee, and started to load a small bomb in the chamber. Was this guy fucking nuts? He was going to fire a mini nuke at such a close range? He was going to kill everyone, including all the mercs that were fighting. He would end up blowing himself away, too.

The kid stood up, pulling a few slaves by the scruff of their tunics as she tried to urge them back toward the pen. A few of them panicked, and started off toward the front gate, past the battle that waged. "No!" she tried to call after them, but they kept running. She had Gob help her urge everyone else back, even though he didn't seem to know what the fuck was going on, and I stood there by the pen's gate, hoping they'd make it in time. I couldn't leave my post, but I could feel the urge to run up to her and help her burn my feet. The guy with the fat man yelled something out, and all of the sudden they sprinted backwards, out of my sight, probably back through the gate. The slavers moved to pick up their guns again to shoot after them, but some of them caught sight of the guy with the fat man on his shoulder, and they started running back toward me, screaming at the others to get a move on. I could see Jones and the blonde girl running up past the bar's wall as the merc launched the bomb.

At that point, a few of the slaves with Gob were trailing behind the kid, and she was strides away from the pen's gate. The moment I saw the nuke fly from the gun, I reached out to grab her by the arm, and I pulled her forcefully toward me, and shoved her over onto the ground so that I could cover her body with mine. She tried to struggle a bit, but I forced her down with my hands. "Stay down!" I shouted, and a split second later, the explosion went off.

I could feel the heat on my back, I could feel the radiation wash over me for a split second as a bright light illuminated the town. Bodies went flying through the air, but it sounded like a few of them were still alive (since they were screaming). When the deafening roar reduced to a growl, and the bright light morphed into a billowing black mushroom cloud, I stood up from over the kid to look at the damage. The guy who'd launched the mini nuke wasn't there anymore, and a sea of bodies lay strewn across the ground. Some people were screaming, some were dead. The slaves that had been trailing behind the kid were still alive, but they burned. They tried to scramble up to the pen still, but their movements were slow and weak. The ones who were with Gob were smoldering bodies now, but the ghoul himself was okay. He rushed up towards me, and landed on his knees beside the kid.

"Hey, you okay?"

"I'm fine." I could tell that she wasn't.

I looked over the small body count, and I caught the sight of the blonde bodyguard lying there. I only knew it was her by the wisps of pink dress that were left behind, but her body itself was burnt like an overcooked brahmin steak. Poor bitch. I looked to the left of her, and I saw Jones's body. He'd been hit pretty hard by the blast, and he seemed to catch the brunt of the shrapnel and heat. The longer I looked at him, though, the more the uneasy feeling started to take me over. My master was dead. I'd failed to protect him. _Penalty upon failure of any order given (provided that the order was specifically stated verbally) or to protect the holder of this contract from harm may result in the servant's termination, should the holder of this contract choose to do so._

It didn't matter if Jones was dead and couldn't kill me; I could care less if he wanted to kill me for screwing up. I'd failed my contract. I could feel that abyss pulling me back, and I staggered backward. Fuck, I was losing my mind—I could feel hell close in around me again and fuck no don't make me go back there please let me out—

"Charon!" I don't know which one of them said it. I slid down the gate and brought my knees up, resting my elbows on them, knotting my hands in what was left of my hair. What was I going to do? Someone pull me out! _I WANT OUT I WANT OUT!_

All of the sudden, I could see someone trying to shove something into my face. I looked up weakly to see the kid holding out the contract to me. The edges were a little burnt, but it seemed to be intact. Most importantly, it was in her hands again.

"Get us out of here," she muttered. I couldn't tell you how relieved I felt, but I was caught off guard. I looked into her eyes for a second, still slouched on the ground, and I noticed how much more hollow she seemed to be. The light was faint, and her eyes blended in with the dark, but I could see the weakness in her face. It was still flawless, but it was haggard in a way, full of turmoil, and even more pale, if that were possible. She didn't urge me on or anything, but she held my eyes for a moment, and it looked like she was struggling to hold on to herself. Gob was standing beside us, and I heard him shuffle his feet. "Come on, I think someone's coming," he said with panic.

I stood up abruptly, then reached down for the kid's hand gently, pulling her up. When she was on her feet, I grasped my shotgun in both my hands again, then started off down the path ahead of them. I should have been watching for threats, but I was distracted by the tingle in my hand from helping her up.It was so thin, so fragile. It was then I knew she wasn't well, because her hand felt dead in mine, like she didn't have the strength to hold on. That was the first time I knew she was in trouble.


	10. Wasteland's Most Wanted

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Ten: Wasteland's Most Wanted

When the car exploded, shrapnel shot everywhere, and it destroyed the generator powering Eulogy Jones's house. In the few days that I spent in the slave pen, I talked to one of the children on the other side of the fence. He'd told me in passing that he was led to believe there was a terminal from inside Eulogy's home that powered all of the slave collars, near and far. When that generator was destroyed, the lights on all the others' collars dimmed out, and a high pitched whine sounded, then faded into a low tone. The collars were inactive, and someone was most obviously commencing an ambush on Paradise Falls. Now was our chance.

There was a woman in the cage with us who had a spare bobby pin. She claimed the slavers didn't bother to search her hair for such an object, considering she was a ghoul, and had little hair left to begin with. She pulled it from one of her free tresses, and handed it over to Gob once I suggested my idea. Gob moved over to the gate and began to work the lock while we all listened to the battle wage; it was too far from the pen to see clearly, as light was minimal. I could barely see the outline of Charon as he fought with the others, but I watched him intently. _Please don't put yourself in harms way,_ I begged silently.

Once the gate was open, the idea donned on me once again that Charon would likely kill us once we walked through the open gate. I didn't know of the orders Jones gave Charon, but I couldn't be as lucky as I was last time in Megaton to walk away without a scratch from him. "Gob," I called out in a whisper, and everyone turned to me. I hesitated in my next words, but I reassured myself that if I were to die now, I'd have it no other way than by Charon. "Let me go first. If he kills me, stay inside the fence, all right?"

It was a silent and unanimous agreement, and Gob moved aside for me to walk through, although his face showed worry and uncertainty. Shortly before Gob picked the lock, I'd noticed the outer gate's lock had been shattered by gunfire from Charon's attackers, and the door tilted open slightly. I moved quietly and carefully toward the gate, and my eyes stayed trained on Charon's back the entire time. I thought about all the moments with him that were clear in my mind, the memories that had kept me company in the past days—besides Gob, of course. Charon was important to me, I can say that with honesty and dignity, despite his indifference toward me. I stood there before the gate, and with a careful hand, I pushed it open gently, my eyes never leaving Charon's back. When the hinges squeaked, my heart jumped; this was it, this was the moment that would mean life or death. Had Jones given the order to shoot any of the slaves if they tried to escape? Most likely. I wanted to believe that despite his orders, he wouldn't shoot. I knew better, however. His contract had a grip on him, and I was just another slave in his eyes now. _I hope you knew that you were my friend,_ I thought as he whipped around and held the barrel of his shotgun in my face.

I didn't squeeze my eyes shut or flinch away. I waited for my world to go black, I waited for him to pull that trigger. Instead of watching the gun, I kept my eyes on him. It was dark, but I could make out his eyes on me. I think I stopped breathing. He didn't fire. He suddenly moved his gun away from me towards the back, and aimed at Gob and the others. I still didn't breathe, although I knew that if he did not shoot me, he would not shoot them. Just as quickly as he had turned on me, he turned away from them, keeping his eyes on the battle ahead. My relief was heavy, but I felt a pang of disappointment. No, he hadn't overridden his orders, he didn't see me or Gob, he only saw slaves. There was nothing I could do for him without that contract.

I looked over my shoulder and waved to the others to follow. We kept our heads low as we made our advance across the path. I was going to try and lead them to safety, but I didn't want to. Not then, at least. What I really wanted to do was find Charon's contract and take it back.

We came to the nearest wall, and I ducked behind it for cover. The other slaves joined me, and Gob trailed behind. There were a lot of shots fired, but I caught glimpses of hand to hand fighting as I made my way to the wall. Eulogy Jones was hanging back, double fisting two magnums. The shots were loud, but apparently quite inaccurate. He fired often, but after twelve shots, he had to pause and reload. I was waiting for the right moment to crawl around the wall and sneak past to battle to the front entrance when Charon shouted: "heads up!"

I looked to him eagerly. I don't know why; I should have known to stay on my guard and look for threats around me. Perhaps I was elated to hear him speak. I turned my head around the corner again, and caught a glimpse of a man kneeling down in the distance, loading a mini nuke into a fat man.

I tried to herd the slaves back towards the pen, away from impending doom, but some of them ran toward the massacre, towards their ill fate. I called after them, but I had no choice but to keep going. When I was close to the slave pen again, Charon grabbed me by the arm roughly, then threw me to the ground beneath him. I tried to fight him off, thinking he was trying to attack me, but he shouted "stay down!" and pressed his weight on top of my shoulders.

A loud blast erupted in the cold, dark night, and my ears rang momentarily as my eyes were blinded with bright light. I could feel the unwelcome heat of radiation around me, but Charon's body shielded me from the majority of the damage. A few moments passed before he stood and gave me my freedom again. I stayed sprawled on the ground, but I lifted myself up by my arms to survey the damage; people were scattered everywhere across the ground, some dead, some brutalized. Gob ran up to me and asked me if I was all right. I told him I was fine, but I truly wasn't; I felt sicker than I had before, and a weakness possessed me that robbed me of my endurance. Shortly after that, Charon collapsed onto the ground, in a sense. He was huddled against the chain fence, withdrawn into a tight ball, looking more vulnerable that I had ever thought I would see him. After a few moments, I realized his fear. I could see Eulogy's twisted body on the ground a few yards away, part of his body burnt from the blast that had damaged a portion of Paradise Falls.

Gob and I talked infrequently while in the pen, but he had told me of the events passed, how he and Charon had arrived in Paradise Falls. The most terrifying detail of this story, however, was Charon's reaction to our separation. His description of the man's incapacitation seemed horrifying in the sense that I couldn't fathom him falling apart. Gob didn't know of what was going through his mind, but Charon was unresponsive until his contract was mentioned.

His contract. I felt so sorry for him; the paper controlled his life through and through, and there was nothing he could do about it. When I saw his inner turmoil screw up his features in something akin to pain, however, it moved me to my feet. I stood and staggered over to Jones's body, even though Gob protested. I searched the corpse's pockets, and I pulled the thin, weathered sheet from the burned silk suit. It was only slightly damaged, but still intact. I only hoped that Charon's sanity was in so good a condition.

I came back over to Charon, my muscles aching and screaming at me in protest for the movement, but I pushed aside. I fell clumsily to my knees in front of Charon, and I held the paper in front of me, giving it a slight shake. He didn't look up, so I tried tapping his knee. He still didn't react, so I waved the paper childishly in his face, and he slowly looked up.

"Get us out of here," I requested, meeting his eyes. I was expecting him to spring into action; he tended to have that reaction in the presence of his contract, but I felt him stare at me for a while. So much was left unsaid, and every time the moment presented itself for me to say anything to him, I never did.

"Come on, I think someone's coming," Gob said from beside us, and with quick movements, Charon stood and hoisted me to my feet. I felt myself waver dangerously, but I felt Gob steady me with a hand, and lead me along after Charon, who was already marching down the path toward the front gate. Bodies lay everywhere, and I tried my best to avoid stepping on them. It seemed like everyone had been hit in the blast. A few slaves and slavers seemed to be conscious, but they also appeared to be holding on by a thread. There was nothing we could do for them now. I was never meant to watch out for others, I was always on my own. Why I had suddenly cared for the well being of those in need around me, I wasn't certain, but I knew it would be a trend that would hurt me sorely. It wasn't that I was selfish, it was simply that I knew my limits, and how dangerous it was to exceed them to help someone else besides myself. It ate away at me, though.

When we crossed the wall that led to the bar, the path leading to the front gate was more clear. A lot of the mercenaries who had fought at close quarters with the slavers failed to retreat a safe distance from the mini nuke, and a few of their scathed bodies scattered across the ground. I could see the destroyed fat man lying in ruins next to the dead man who had used it, and I felt no pity. It was often a weakness of men to use more power than they knew how to wield. He brought about his own death through stupidity. I was so preoccupied by observing the useless death around me that I did not realize two mercenaries were still standing, and were approaching us intently. Charon held up his shotgun, but I reached forward and touched his back weakly. "Don't fire unless they threaten us," I commanded, fighting to keep my voice even. I felt so sick, I felt like I just wanted to lie down and sleep.

He didn't say anything, and I questioned if he'd heard me or not, but he didn't fire. The mercenaries slowed in their step, but they held their aim towards us. I clenched my fists nervously. I should have told Charon to kill them, but I... I don't know. I think I was worried they would kill him first.

"Get the fuck out of the way," Charon yelled. It was the loudest I had ever heard him project his voice. The mercenaries merely paused in their path, however. One of them sneered.

"You're coming with us," he said with a slippery tongue, then shifted the nozzle of his assault rifle towards me, "or we take out the girl."

I think I flinched when the shotgun went off. Charon fired one shell at the mercenary who had threatened me, pieces of bone and flesh splattering everywhere from where his head had been. Before the second mercenary could react, Charon had turned on him, blowing a round into his chest. The man fell with a gurgled cry, landing heavily on his back. He wasn't dead, but he wasn't likely to survive, either. The moment he hit the ground, a scarce second had gone by, and Charon had muttered, "let's move," before I could fully calculate what had just occurred. As we walked by the dying man, he growled: "you're fucking dead, you're fucking _dead!_"

It was true. The whole world was against us now, or so it seemed. First, I had angered Megaton, now the slavers, and even the Talon merc Company. All of this because I had a change of heart, because I wanted to help Carol. I had never believed in good deeds as good acts; I had always believed that watching out for myself was the most noble thing I could do. I think I was right. I had caused so much more trouble by turning over a new leaf, so to speak. So many had died, good and ill willed alike.

We traveled by night, for we knew we were too close to Paradise Falls to risk resting for the night. Hours from sunrise, we settled down by the dry banks of the Potomac near an overturned pre-war houseboat. We didn't start a fire, for we couldn't risk it. It was likely we would be spotted by one of our many enemies who were likely out looking for us, looking for our blood.

Luckily for us, there were old imperishable goods stored in the crates that littered the ground next to the boat. They were primarily freeze dried fruits and cakes, but they filled us, regardless. I fought off waves of nausea as I ate, trying not to show my weakness to my companions. I managed to keep the food down somehow, or perhaps I had just gotten lucky. We sat in silence for a while after we'd eaten, and surprisingly, it was Charon who broke it.

"Gob, remember the time I was holed up in the pen for failing to execute an order, and you sat next to me the entire time, trying to chat me up?"

Gob looked just as surprised as I was. That was probably the most Charon had ever spoken in one breath before. Whats more, Charon suddenly seemed to remember his past. I was puzzled, and the thought buzzed in my mind as I watched them. We sat leaning up against the over turned deck like it was a wall, and Charon sat in between us. I looked between him and Gob through the dark (the coming sunrise provided just enough light for me to see them) trying to read the situation.

"Uh... yeah, I remember," he said uneasily, probably trying to decide if it was a trick question or not.

"You said you left Underworld to find 'broader horizons'. Why?"

He looked like he contemplated this for a moment. "Grass is greener on the other side, I suppose."

Charon shook his head, a silent chuckle shaking his shoulders. "Funny."

It fell silent for a moment, but Gob piped up. "I didn't think you were listening."

"Me either." He looked like he was going to say more, but he paused. Then: "slavers picked you up outside of D.C., right?"

"Yeah."

"Shame."

"Well... shit happens."

"Hah... yeah."

I was surprised to see them getting along so well, but my curiosity was nagging at me consistently. "How did you remember, Charon?" I asked.

He rubbed a hand over his scalp. "I just needed a little push. It was there all along, I just couldn't..."

"'Couldn't' or didn't want to?"

He shrugged. "Maybe both."

I'd read of retrograde amnesia before, and how it was possible for the individual to regain the memories over time, but I didn't know it was possible to regain those memories so quickly. Perhaps it was partially brain injury and repression, in Charon's case, and all it took was a proper reminder.

"Feels like there's another person in my head sometimes," he mumbled, "and I don't want to remember him."

We left it at that. After a while, the sun was peaking over the east from behind our backs, and Charon suggested that we get some sleep. He wanted to keep watch, as always, but Gob refused. "If I see something coming, I'll shout. You should get some shut eye for a change."

I expected Charon to be stubborn and argue, but he nodded instead. I was reminded of the itching in my neck, and I reached up to scratch, my fingers touching the cold metal of the collar. "Charon, may I borrow your knife?"

I'd never seen him pull his knife, but I'd always seen it on his belt. I didn't have anything else around to use, and so trying to dismantle it with a blade seemed to be the best idea for the moment. He seemed to be following my thoughts, for he pulled it and shifted closer to me. "Tilt your head to the side," he told me.

I watched him for a second, then slowly tilted my head away from him. I could feel his breath on my neck when he leaned closer, then I felt the knife as he started to pry away at the tool.

"Lucky the power went out on these."

"Yes," I agreed.

"Jesus—agh, fucking bugger." I assumed the collar was giving him difficulty. They did appear to be complicated devices. His hand brushed away some of my hair as he started to work the blade at another part of the collar, and I felt strange. I felt like I was trying to suppress a shiver, but he didn't notice. My eyes darted towards Gob; he was standing with his back to us a short distance away, and I was thankful for it. I think it was because I felt like I was being exposed, and this was a moment I wanted to keep private. It sounds perverse; he was a ghoul, but underneath it all, Charon was a man. I didn't think I would ever admit it to anyone, but I longed to be close to him, and I reveled in the feeling every time he was. I'd never felt like that before, and at the time, I wasn't exactly sure how to place it.

After a few long minutes, the collar clicked, and it fell off of my neck. I sighed out loud, letting the thing fall from me. My hands flew up and rubbed the skin where the collar had been gently; it was raw and sore, but I knew the damage wasn't serious. It felt good to have the thing off of me.

"Thank you," I whispered, but I didn't look at him. I think I was embarrassed, but I have no idea why. It wasn't like he could read my thoughts, but I felt like somehow he had.

"No problem," he muttered back, almost as quietly. "Hey, Gob, come here, I'll take the collar off of you."

It took him only a couple of minutes to work the collar off of Gob, and once it was done, Charon started to prepare himself to rest. I dared a look over at him, but he seemed to be keeping his eyes downcast as he shifted aside and lay back. Gob stood again, then started back towards his spot a few feet away. "Thanks, buddy," he muttered as he walked away, rubbing at his neck as I had. I could see flakes of his skin fall off, but the sight made me grin. It seemed to make him look more innocent, I suppose. The sun was steadily climbing upwards in the sky, and I leaned down onto my side, trying to get comfortable. I didn't fall asleep for a long time, though. I could still feel his hands and his breath, and I held on to the feelings longer than I should have, I suppose.

* * *

Gob got me up about six hours later. Fuck, he let me sleep in a bit much. I hadn't slept that much since I'd been beaten up fifteen to sixteen years back. The first thing I did was look over to the kid. She was still sleeping. "I'll give you a few hours," I said, "let her rest up a bit more."

"Sure thing."

It must've been hours that I was standing there, but it felt like no time had gone by at all. There was nothing out there, not even a mole rat for me to take pot shots at. I would've been disappointed any other time, but I was pretty preoccupied with my thoughts. I had a few dreams about the kid, none that I'm too keen on delving in to. Now, before you go throwing obscenities in my direction, it wasn't like _that_. Well, not all of them were like that, anyway. But, like I said, that's something that I'm not going to get in to. I've never had one before, but I think it's safe to say that I had a nightmare about her. Instead of Jones running toward me, trying to get away from the mini nuke, it was her, and she had that terrified look on her face for a split second before she disappeared in flames.

I don't know how long she was awake, but she scared the shit out of me when she spoke. "Charon," she said quietly, gently, "what did the slavers mean when they said you were the last of the 'Jersey band'?"

I threw a glance over my shoulder, but I didn't look at her. She simply surprised me. I shifted my weight on my feet, trying to decide if I wanted to talk about it or not.

"They were the people that brainwashed me," I finally answered. I decided I couldn't turn her down.

"Why?"

"Shits and giggles, I guess."

This was exactly like that night she'd forced my life story out of me. At least, the last-fifteen-years-of-my-life story. I didn't want to look at her, because I knew she'd be looking at me with those black eyes, waiting to read me out for all I was worth. "Charon, I... you..."

She didn't finish, but I didn't prompt her. She sounded so sad. I suppose it was sympathy she was trying to give, but she didn't need to finish her sentence. I wasn't the emotional type, so I preferred not to be around that stuff. _I know, kid,_ I thought. I was going to tell her about Schafer, and how I started to realize all those unexplainable mannerisms, how he was trying to redeem himself by treating me like a buddy, but I didn't. We left it at that. A few minutes later, she added: "I'm glad you're here."

I felt the word vomit coming up, and I sighed inwardly. I was getting softer by the minute. "Me, too."

"Maybe when this is all over," she said hesitantly, "we can stay in Underworld, at least for a little while."

Oh, shit. I'd almost forgot. "Kid, those mercs were hired by some jerk off in Underworld to take me and Gob back."

"What?" she retorted sharply. I heard Gob recoil a bit, woken up by the sudden volume in her voice. I shifted my feet again, like I was doing a Gob shuffle.

"I don't know how much they trust you."

"I..." she trailed off, but I could hear the rage boiling in her voice. She was pissed, just as pissed as I was about it.

"What's going on?" Gob asked wearily.

I looked over my shoulder, but I didn't look at anyone in particular. I suppose it was to see what she'd say.

"Slight change of plans," she said, trying to keep herself in control, "that's all."

"What about Underworld?"

"It's nothing, Gob."

"...All right."

I was afraid of that. After all the commotion in Paradise Falls, I'd nearly forgotten how angry I was about that order. I found myself wondering who it was again, wondering what the kid wanted to do. It sounded for a second like she'd want revenge or something, but I knew she was smarter than that. I sighed to myself quietly. This was a shitty set up.


	11. The River Below

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Eleven: The River Below

After about ten minutes, Gob decided he couldn't get back to sleep, so we decided to head out. The kid and him scoured through the rest of the boxes, collecting any sort of food they could find. We started off south on the western bank of the Potomac once they found something to munch on. The kid had suggested that we didn't walk along the D.C. ruins like last time, and we agreed. She didn't know it there would be a place to cross on the southern end of the river, but she decided the long way to Underworld was the better way. It would probably give her enough time to cool off, too, let her decide what exactly she wanted to do.

We had just passed the old Super-Duper Mart when early evening set in. I let the kid and Gob walk a few paces ahead, and I could hear them chattering between each other every now and then. It was good to see the kid getting along with Gob; she needed someone to relate to. I would've liked to be that person, but my social skills were pretty shitty to begin with. She seemed to be a little more lively than I knew her to be, at least. I didn't know what they talked about in those days they were cooped up in the slave pen, but they must've connected on some level. I think at one point I heard him call her by a name, but he was being too quiet for me to hear it properly. I think it started with an 'S'.

"No," she said, apparently answering a question he'd asked. She didn't speak up, but I could hear the firmness in her voice. "Someone from Underworld sent a contract out for you two. I'm not going there."

"What?" Gob said, his voice louder. "Who the hell would do that?"

She seemed to contemplate this. "Anyone and everyone, I suppose."

"No, I mean, there's got to be some sort of mix up," Gob reasoned, talking with his hands. He was really getting into this. "It's bullshit! Why wouldn't they just let you get the job done? You weren't even gone two days before they sent the mercs on your ass!"

"Perhaps it's prejudice or stereotyping," she said, her voice still sounding pissed. "Maybe it's just my untrustworthy aura." I cracked a grin.

"Agh, they're always so god damned uptight about every smoothskin that walk by—"

The kid stopped, throwing out her hand to stop Gob. I stopped too, straining my ears and looking around wearily for what she'd heard. Damn, I was always used to being the perceptive one—she had senses of steel. I was going to ask her what she'd heard, but I decided keeping quiet was the smart move. If it was something that important, I'd find out soon enough.

"Something's stalking us," she whispered. She was still looking ahead, but Gob turned his eyes this way and that, trying to see what she did. I let my eyes fall to the ground, and I concentrated on my hearing. Then I heard it; heavy paws padded against the ground, and a heavy, wet breathing went along with it in an ugly rythym.

"Yao guai," I whispered, shifting my grip on my shotgun, "from the northwest."

"Holy fuck," Gob muttered. I saw his legs tense up, like he really wanted to run, but knew he needed to stay put. If I still thought lowly of him, I would've claimed he was trying to stop himself from shitting his pants.

"Charon, pass me your knife," the kid said quietly, holding her palm out behind her. I heard the yao guai snarl real loud before I pulled the knife from my belt. I hoped she wouldn't have to use it, but I wasn't about to let her go unarmed, either. I couldn't disobey orders, anyway.

I lunged forward a couple of steps, shoved the knife in her hand, then turned on my heel, firing three shots at the mutated bear that charged us. The round was empty, and I pulled another one from my hip, snapping the other out quickly before putting in the next. I saw the kid and Gob rush off to the side, but the bear didn't seem to care about either of them. The yao guai was closing in fast, and I was walking backwards as fast as I could without fucking up my gun. When the next round was loaded, I fired at it a couple more times before it was five feet in front of me. It took a leap at me, both claws outstretched, and I tripped myself backwards, landing on my ass and lying back. The thing flew right over me, landing in the dirt with an ungraceful step. I rolled onto my stomach, pulled myself into a crouch, and fired the last three shots into the bear. At this point, any normal living thing would have fallen over dead, but this thing was still ticking. It twisted itself around angrily, an obvious pain in its step, and it started towards me again. I was loading the gun as fast as I could, but it wasn't fast enough.

All of the sudden, the kid dashed from the side, throwing herself into a leap onto the bear's back. With one quick stab, she planted my combat knife in between its shoulder blades, and held onto the handle tightly. The thing jolted around, trying to stand on its hind legs, but it fell back down again out of weakness. It was throwing her around with powerful shakes and loud barks, though, and she tried to let go and land to safety. Once she dropped off, I'd already reloaded my shotgun, and I fired at it one last time. The bear fell onto its maw, and it didn't move again. Holy fuck, that thing was a tank. Right then, though, that wasn't what was going through my mind. I lowered my shotgun and turned towards the kid, panting heavily and squinting at her in confusion.

"What the fuck were you doing?"

"Buying you time," she retorted angrily, getting to her feet and brushing herself off. "You were about to be killed."

"Yeah," I agreed, standing myself, "and so were you."

"I can't let you be attacked when I am perfectly capable of helping you out," she breathed, looking down at the animal.

"You could at least try not to be a dumb ass when fighting!"

I'd overstepped my limits; I'd seen it in her eyes the moment I said that. She continued to brush off her once beige hoodie, her eyes aflame and firing at me. "Don't argue with me again, Charon," she said icily.

I didn't think she'd pull the mistress card purposefully. Damn. "I apologize," my contract responded.

"Gob?" she called out relatively gently, "let's keep moving."

Gob hadn't cowered behind any rocks, by any means, but he was crouched down to the side, looking out for anymore threats. It wasn't weakness. If I were unarmed like him, with no combat training under my belt, faced with a giant bear, I'd be getting the fuck out of the way, too. "You sure you're okay?" he asked, pointing towards her. I looked back at her, noticing her arm wrapped protectively around her ribs.

"I think I fractured something," she admitted, "but there's nothing we can do about that now. We can't stay here."

"Right," he said after a second, nodding weakly. She started walking away, and he fell into step next to her, mumbling things, probably trying to see if she was okay. I didn't follow right away; I glared at them from behind for a second. This is going to sound really pathetic, but I was jealous of Gob. I knew she was pissed at me, probably for yelling at her, making her feel small, but I was tired of Gob filling the spot next to her, muttering all sorts of nonsense to her. Of course, if he wasn't here, and it was just the two of us, we probably wouldn't talk anyway. Still, I... fuck. I'm just gonna stop there. I growled with a scowl for a bit, before I stomped forward slowly and forcefully yanked my combat knife from the dead yao guai's back.

* * *

I was glad to have Gob there at that point in time, for I had an irrational anger boiling inside me at Charon, and I did not want to be traveling alone with him. I knew he was right; my actions were brash and foolish, and it was highly likely that I would have died when I launched myself onto the animal's back. At the moment, though, I saw only the bear's exposed jaws and an incapacitated Charon, and I sprung into action. I wasn't going to let him get killed, or I would never forgive myself. Beyond that, I was so possessed with worry that I could not see the dangers in my actions. When Charon talked down to me, though, I felt berserk. Most of all, I felt defeated, I felt insignificant. I had saved his life, but he didn't care about that. The only thing he seemed capable of caring about was his contract. I was livid at this, and I could not face him. My week was not going well.

It was dark again, and it became harder to follow the river bank, but a sliver of moonlight was cast upon the Wasteland, and it was much easier to see our way across the desert than it had been the night prior. My ribs began to ache immensely, and I was about to request a break when we caught sight of something large and looming in the distance with a bridge at its feet. I paused, and the two paused with me.

"What is it?" Gob asked, scanning the dark horizon.

I looked over the large ruin, and I could hear the faint snap-like sound of a laser gun being fired in the distance; the gunfire was wafting up from the open courtyard in the middle of the pentagon ahead of us, and it was unmistakable. I had heard of the place through passing, but I'd never thought I'd come across it.

"It's the Citadel," I responded.

"Shit," Gob muttered, "you mean the Brotherhood of Steel?"

"Yes." I could hear unexplained urgency in his voice.

"Agh, we're fucked."

It suddenly donned on me that the Brotherhood of Steel despised ghouls. We needed to cross the river at that bridge, but an entire horde of Knights and Paladins sat waiting for us to crawl by, waiting to open fire on Gob and Charon. No matter what, our advance would be obstructed.

"If we stay low," I said quietly, "there's a chance we can sneak past without being noticed."

Since I knew I'd made it clear that I was angry at him and did not want any arguments, I was surprised to hear Charon speak. "Guards will be patrolling the entire area," he said evenly, "we would be engaged in combat."

I gritted my teeth together to avoid saying anything uncalled for, but I didn't acknowledge him with a glance, either. "How do you suggest we make our way towards Underworld?" I asked ambiguously, waiting for a reply from either of my companions, but I was hoping for Gob's.

He did answer, but a sarcastic remark wasn't what I'd wanted to hear. "Maybe we can find a boat and have Charon paddle us across."

I dug my dirty nails into my palms. "Let's get a move on, then," I snapped, storming forward. If my anger was irrational before, it was encompassing now. I know I said that if I could go back, I wouldn't change a thing, but I wish I had listened to Charon. Then maybe things would have been better for us, at least for a little while.

They trailed behind me, and we started to hug the bank. When we got close enough to be visible, I ducked low, and I only assumed the others followed suit. I wasn't about to look over my shoulder to watch after them; I was too enraged to face anyone at that moment. I caught sight of a paladin with a minigun attached to his right side, and I hit the dirt. I couldn't hear any footsteps behind me anymore, so I assumed they paused, too. The paladin had turned in my direction, and I threw my arms over my head, trying to eliminate myself as a target; my bright blonde hair was visible even in this minimal light. I strained my eyes to watch him, but he didn't seem to see me or the others. He turned back away again, slowly, as if he was bored.

We were a safe enough distance away to sneak behind the boulders that stood between the bridge and the Citadel, but it was best to keep low. Even though it was dark, and hard to identify a smoothskin from a ghoul, I had no doubt the Brotherhood would fire out of pure paranoia. When I left Underworld, a pair of super mutants chased me towards the Washington Monument, and a knight saw us coming. With bullets flying at my back, I thought the Brotherhood would offer protection, but the knight fired his minigun down the slight corridor between the museum and the debris that lined the super mutant bunker. I supposed it was the only way to kill the super mutants, but the bullets tore through me... I thought I would die. Nurse Graves had told me the super mutants alone attacked me, but I didn't find the need to correct her. I felt like the powerful bullets were still inside me sometimes, and this uneasy feeling of death would come over me.

Yes, if the Brotherhood saw movement in the night, they would shoot to kill.

I felt like Gob or Charon wanted to call out after me, but no one dared make a sound as we crawled along the ground cautiously. I threw dirt into my hair, trying to dull the colour, trying to make myself less visible. I wondered if it had worked at all, but I didn't stop to check. I stayed low to the ground, taking my time to get to the bridge. It was close, and it seemed we'd get by without being seen, but I knew better than to take my chances. After a few minutes, I had crawled halfway along the bridge, and I decided it was necessary to look back. Both of them were following behind me, low as I was. We were almost there.

"Over there!" a knight yelled, and I could hear the faint sound of a minigun start to turn. I gasped, and scrambled to my feet.

"Run!" I barked, and I started off down the bridge as fast as I could, ignoring the burning in my ribs. We couldn't risk staying low to avoid the rapid fire, for I was certain we'd be killed if we stayed there any longer. My feet propelled against the wrought iron of the bridge, and my dirty hair flew behind me. I was scared, scared that at any moment, I would die. I was afraid of those bullets tearing through me a second time. I could hear Gob and Charon running behind me, and I felt a slight comfort at knowing they were there, until I heard one of them call out.

I couldn't afford to stop running, but I did. The bullets stopped for a moment, probably for the knight to reload the gun. I peered through the dark, and I saw Gob lying across the bridge, Charon running up behind him.

I ran back. "Charon, help him!" I wasn't so sure if he would pause to save the other ghoul or not unless I ordered it. Charon came to a stop beside Gob, knelt down, and picked him up roughly. Gob called out in agony, and struggled to plant his feet on the ground. His entire front was soaked with blood, and as I came up next to him, I saw his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth drawn back in a silent snarl. He was alive, but he was in pain. Charon had slung Gob's arm over his shoulder and started to pull him along at a quick pace when the bullets started to fire again. I moved forward, running slightly ahead of them, trying to space us out and make us a harder target to hit. The knight was far away, but I was afraid one of his bullets would clip Charon or Gob; they were slower and easier to kill when they were slung over each other. We reached the end of the bridge and started towards the collapsed freeway that offered a path into the ruins of D.C. The shots ceased after that, but my shock still remained. Gob was injured, oh God, he was completely covered in blood—

"We need to bring him to a doctor," I asserted, pausing to let Charon catch up, "or find medical supplies, at the very least."

"No shit," he barked back through pants, pulling Gob along at a brisk pace. The injured man kept growling and groaning, trying to suppress his show of agony. "We'll stop when we find a building that isn't boarded up. We can't make it to Underworld like this."

A realization came to me at these words, and I felt panic. Gob's life was in danger, _he wouldn't make it like this_. I breathed deeply, and a hand flew to my ribs. The sting didn't seem that strong after seeing Gob's condition, but the fear of seeing him like that was more prevalent. I kept in pace with Charon's long strides, running across the long bridge that was littered with old vehicles. We would make it, we would make it...

Twenty minutes passed, and we had run through the eerily, but luckily empty streets of downtown D.C. Gob's growls and grunts were becoming fewer, but it wasn't because the pain was softening. His blood was drenched all over him now, and it covered most of Charon, too. At one point, Charon paused to shift Gob from his side onto his back when the injured man stopped moving his legs. Gob called out in pain at the movement, but that was a good thing—it meant he was still awake, he was still alive. I wished I still had stimpaks on me, I wished I had anything that would help him. Oh, God, please...

We climbed the short hill that led from the tall ruins, and I paused at the top, wrapping an arm around my middle again, waiting for Charon to catch up. He was panting a lot now, and I could see blood drip from the tips of Gob's fingers from where they lay draped over Charon's shoulders. _Oh, please, come on, come on..._

I looked out from the top of the hill, and I could see a large building looming a short distance away. "What is it?" I asked as Charon came up behind me. I continued alongside him when he strode past, and he glanced into the distance. "Jefferson Memorial."

"Should we stop there?" I watched as Gob's head draped over Charon's shoulder and bob up and down with his quick steps.

"Yeah."

I kept mumbling to Gob from beside Charon, impulsively checking to make sure he was responsive. We clambered around the broken road to the long stretch that led to the memorial, and I soon found myself shaking Gob's shoulder, talking about nonsense things, like my conversation with Carol, how I met Charon, and so on. I could see him smile weakly through the dark at me, and I smiled back. I was so worried.

When we approached the memorial, I ran ahead, looking for an entrance in the dark. I had taken Charon's knife again, just to have something to defend myself with. He had muttered something about super mutants likely being there, but there were no threats. I found a small door on the side of the building, just beside a large ramp that roofed over a series of what looked like large pipes. It was very dark, so I couldn't be certain, but the sight was curious. Something had happened here. I turned when I found the door, and I waved to Charon. "Over here!" I called. When he got closer, I tore open the small door, entering into the dark, musty hall of the memorial. I coughed, trying to fight off the dust that ambushed my lungs. I held the knife tightly in my hand, not because I was expecting someone or something to jump out at us, but because I was on edge. I was torn with worry and fear, hopelessly praying that we would make it through this, that Gob would be okay.

We came to a T-intersection in the hall, and I rushed through the gift shop to our right. There were a few fortifications lining the room, leaving evidence that battles had been fought here. A single light could be seen from a storage closet to my left, and I ran inside, looking for any medical supplies. I tore things off of the shelves, throwing scrap metal and junked parts to the ground, looking for anything useful. There was nothing. "Dammit!" I screamed, kicking a toolbox I had thrown to the ground.

"Kid!" Charon called, and I looked out into the dark gift shop before I ran after his voice. I found him standing by another light in the short distance, looking to me from a door. "Open this for me, will you?"

I dashed forward, and I opened the door, letting him in. "There might be more down here," he suggested as he descended the stairs into the basement. Gob moaned into Charon's shoulder, and I touched his back gingerly with my fingertips again. _Hold on, please._

We came to the bottom of the steps, and we found ourselves in an open room, and the middle was fenced off. A few individually powered lights scattered the room, and Charon approached the fence, peering down to the floor below. "There's water down there," Charon said, then he turned his body to look at me. "I'll put him in the water—the rads might help."

"Right," I said with a nod.

"You look for meds, then meet me down there."

I started running around the room, tearing things around like I had in the storage closet. I was surprised to find scientific charts and test tubes all over the place, but this didn't catch my attention right away. My mind was buzzing with apprehension for Gob's fate. After I was certain I'd searched the entire room, I started down the next set of steps where Charon had disappeared.

At the bottom of the next set of stairs was an open room filled with bunk beds. This was a little more noticeable than the scientific paraphernalia in the previous room, but I still had no time to stop. I opened all the footlockers, checked all the tables and cabinets, but there was still no medicine in sight. I was cursing lividly now, but it only fueled me on faster. I ran down the short hall from the room, and I peered through the closest doorway there. I came face to face with an operating room; the monitors had been left on and were still functioning, and a small tray stood beside the bed in the middle of the room with clean, neatly sorted medical tools arranged on top. I saw a stimpak gleaming in the faint light form the monitors, and I rushed forward, plucking it hastily from the tray before I ran down the rest of the hall, toward the cisterns that Charon had taken Gob to.

It was dark in the open room, but light from the room above washed down over us, and I could see Charon kneeling down by one of the pools. He had submerged Gob fully into the pool, and he held onto him by his shoulders, making sure he didn't sink down and drown. I knelt down beside Charon, and I showed him the stimpak. "Use it," he stated simply, and I pulled the plunger back, tapped the syringe, then jabbed the needle into Gob's neck. He mumbled a little, but he barely reacted to the pinch of the medicine entering his veins. There, that would help Gob heal immensely, or so I hoped. When I pulled the plunger away, I suddenly noticed that the majority of the water had already turned red with Gob's blood.

I must have said something aloud out of surprise, because Gob chuckled weakly, and said: "that's no way for a lady to talk."

"Gob?" I said, reaching down to touch his shoulder. My hand covered Charon's, but I didn't take the time to notice this, "how are you feeling?"

"A little light headed," he admitted, rolling his head to the side towards me, "but other than that, I'm dandy."

I smiled and gave a weak laugh, and I felt tears pooling in my eyes. I wasn't one for crying; the night that I had teared up in front of Charon was a rarity, and I'd never expected it to happen again. Then again, I never expected to see a friend on the brink of life and death in front of me, either. I gave his shoulder and Charon's hand a light squeeze. "That must mean you're taking to the drugs."

"Nah," he said with a half-hearted snort, "haven't you heard? Ghouls need the hard shit, you humans are the lightweights. I could keep taking this stuff all day and... nnh," he groaned, and I leaned closer, my muscles tensing up. Gob's head dipped forward a bit, then he lifted it slightly. "Hey, you think when I get patched up, you could hire someone to deliver a letter to Megaton for me?"

I nodded, though he possibly couldn't see the gesture. "Of course," I said, my voice wavering dangerously, "for Nova, right?"

"Yeah," he said, and I could see him smile. "She'd lose her shit if she could see the things I've been through in the past few days."

I laughed again, but it was more weak, more worried than the first. "I bet," I mumbled, squeezing him with my hand again. Gob tilted his head back to lean on the side of the cistern, though, and I could see his eyes open, and a gentle smile on his face. "I think I'm feeling better already," he mumbled, and I could see his arms move under the red murky water to his stomach, touching the wounds gently. "They don't hurt so much anymore," he told me, touching the bullet wounds.

I felt a large load of relief wash over me. "That's good!" I said optimistically, a few tears escaping my eyes down my cheeks. _Oh, thank God,_ I thought. I made eye contact with him, and he smiled at me gently, closing his eyes. "Mmm, I'd like to be sleeping in one of Carol's beds right now, that's for sure."

"They are quite comfortable," I added, my anxiety washing away in my voice, displaced by happiness. We had made it, Gob was safe now. "I'll bet they'll be glad to have you back," I added in conversation, thinking on the contract that had been sent to the Talon merc company. My anger on their betrayal of me was completely gone; I didn't care if they wanted to take Gob and Charon from me before I could deliver them, for my friend was all right, and at that moment, that was all that mattered to me.

"You know..." Gob said, trailing off. I was still smiling, elated with the affirmation from Gob that he was on the mend, and the tears from before were still sliding down my cheeks as I waited for him to finish his thought. A few moments had passed, and I prompted him. "Gob?" I said, shaking my hand over Charon's to try and catch his attention. His eyes were still closed, and his faint smile was still on his lips. It looked like he had fallen asleep. I sighed, and leaned back.

"Gob?" Charon then said, and he shook him.

"Let him rest," I suggested, looking over to Charon through the dark. But I could see the expression on his face as he peered down at his fellow ghoul, and he shook his head slightly as he tried to stir the injured man again.

"Gob?"

The smile on my face slowly faded, and I looked down toward the man in the water. His head bobbed lightly with the ripples in the water, and his body floated with an eerie stillness in the red fogged waters. My hand reached down to Charon's hand over Gob's shoulder again, and I called out his name, too. After about a minute, Charon and I both fell silent, and neither of us moved. He still held Gob's body in the water by his shoulders, and I held my hand over Charon's. I shifted my eyes to a nonspecific point in the pool after a while, when I found I couldn't look at Gob's serene-like face anymore. I don't know how much time passed, but eventually Charon let go of Gob's shoulders gently, and I watched from the corner of my eye as his body floated down into the dark disappearing into the black. I moved my hand away from Charon's once Gob's body was gone, but both of us stayed kneeling by the pool. I thought that Charon felt indifference to everything, but he stayed crouched with me for a long time, neither of us saying a word. I didn't know what else to do after that.


	12. From Acheron to Inferno

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Twelve: From Acheron to Inferno

"Hey, Charon," Schafer said, throwing another twig into the fire. I looked up from tuning my shotgun (which Schafer had scraped together from various parts we'd scavenged) and watched him, waiting for him to keep going. He was kind of staring into the fire absentmindedly, his brow furrowed together like he was concentrating real hard on something.

"Yeah?" I said, trying to get him to snap out of it.

He didn't really respond, but he went to picking his teeth with a small piece of twig. Our small camp still smelled like our dinner, but I was sure we'd finished eating a couple of hours before. He shook his head, grunting a bit as he concentrated on what he wanted to say.

"You really don't remember anything from before I found you? In Paradise Falls, that is?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Mm," he mumbled, then resorted to chewing on the twig. When he started to take apart his laser pistol and look through it, I went back to my shotgun. I'd only been with Schafer for about a week, but I was starting to get a feel for who he was, and this wasn't like him. He usually was very talkative, and he tried to get more than a couple of words out of me constantly. All of the sudden, after we set up camp and started to make the fire, he got quieter than he'd been since I met him.

"I've done things I'm not proud of," he admitted, throwing the twig into the flames. I moved my eyes to him from the shotgun again, trying to get a feel of the situation. He glanced up at me for a second, the corner of his lip drawing up a bit before he looked away again. "Sometimes, I wish I could forget my past."

"Oh." I was pretty fucking confused. I also wasn't into the whole buddy-buddy bonding idea. I wanted to keep to myself, but it seemed like Schafer was fishing for any sort of statement. So, I sighed a bit, then flipped my gun over on my lap. "What'd you do?" I asked, testing the water. After I'd found out what kind of power that contract had on me, I wasn't too keen on crossing the guy who held it. Schafer just snorted though, a kind of lame laugh.

"That's a different story."

He wanted to open up to me, but he wasn't willing to get his feet wet. Jesus Christ, I wasn't cut out for this. I shrugged slightly, then looked to my shotgun again. Schafer sighed, then I saw him shake his head from the corner of his eye. "Hey, man, I know I've got this contract," he said, waving the paper in the air, "but I want you to forget about it. I'll never use it against you, I promise."

"I'm not sure I understand," I tempted, waiting for him to delve into it. He sighed again, folded the thing up, then stuck it back into his satchel.

"I want to think of you as a companion, not a god damned tool," he said, giving the bag a shove with his foot. "Just... I don't know... don't be afraid to be yourself, I guess."

I let it roll around in my mind before I dared answer. "All right," I mumbled, shrugging. "I guess."

"Good," he said, giving me another weak smile. He picked up another twig, then tossed it in. "Good."

I never put much thought to it then. Now that I remember, I suppose Schafer was a sort of father figure to me when I was in the band. He really was trying to get me to forgive him, although I didn't know what for at the time. Now, I kind of regret that he died, to be honest.

* * *

We spent the rest of the night in the memorial. The kid got up first to go, and I followed behind her a few seconds later. We got back to the room full of bunk beds, and she picked the farthest one in the corner. I didn't see a need to stand watch, but I didn't fall asleep, either. I lay awake on the bunk closest to the stairwell, just in case some raider came down those steps during the night. I'm not entirely sure, but I think she might've started crying at one point. Normally, I would've felt awkward at this, but this time I just listened, thinking. Gob died of blood loss, and we were just a little too late to help him. It was pretty fucking depressing, and if I were anybody else, I'd be just as sad as she was. I could remember his body floating down into the dark water, disappearing so easily. Man, I fucked up. I wasn't just beating myself up over it, though, I was mad that we'd lost him to those Brotherhood bitches. I couldn't have expected any less from them, but... fuck, why Gob?

I fell asleep again without noticing, and the only thing I could remember was picturing the kid's face a lot. It was stoic, like it usually was, and her silvery blonde hair was clean and straight around her face and shoulders. Just before I woke up, she was trying to say something to me. I never caught what it was.

I didn't know what time it was, but my eyes still flew to where she'd been sleeping, just to see if she woke up before me. She wasn't there, and my mind started to jump to the worst. Grabbing my shotgun from beside my bed, I started back to the room with the cisterns. I found her leaning over the pool opposite where Gob had died. Her face and hair were wet, suggesting that she'd washed herself, and she was holding her long blonde locks back as she puked into the water. I stood there in the doorway, watching her get sick over and over. I wanted to help her, but I didn't think there was anything I could do. When she stopped, she stayed sitting on her knees, breathing deep and slow. After a while, she let go of her hair, and let it drop over her face. She didn't move for the longest time. "Kid?" I said quietly, and she turned toward me, looking up at me through the dark. Her face looked like it did in my dream, but it was so much more pale, so much more tired.

After that, we both ate in silence in the bunk room, not looking at the other. We sat on bunks opposite each other, and we kind of just sat quietly, looking at the floor.

"I don't look anything like my father," she said in a small voice. I looked up at her, noticing how her arms wrapped around her ribs, how she winced with each breath she took. When she saw me looking at her, she shook her head a bit. "He claimed I had his face, but I think I'm an exact copy of my mother."

I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. "There were a few old pictures we had stored away at home, in Vault 101," she explained, drawing her feet closer to the bunk and trying to sit up straight. The moment she straightened out her middle, she grimaced hard again, and slunk back down into her hunched position, favouring her right side. "She had the same bright blonde hair and black eyes as I do, but we had polarized dispositions. In all of her photos, she's smiling, and she looks so happy... if it weren't for our physical resemblance, I would claim that I wasn't my parents' child."

I studied her as she said all of this to me. I wasn't sure why she was mentioning it, but I figured it had something to do with the fact that she'd watched her friend die while she couldn't do anything. I just let her talk. Maybe that's all she needed. "My mother was so passionate and kind, and my father is determined and good willed... I don't know where I went wrong. I would like to say I have noble intentions, just like them, but everything I try to accomplish, everyone I try to help, they... I..."

Her head sunk a little lower. "I'm not fit for anyone."

After that, we were silent again, and she just got up and wandered off, limping lightly as she climbed the stairs behind me. Agh, god dammit, I knew I should've gone up there and consoled her or some shit like that, but what was I supposed to do? My social skills were pretty shitty, and as much as I felt for the kid, I felt just the same as she did: if I tried to help, I'd probably end up making things worse. I spent a good half hour sitting in the basement. I rubbed the back of my flaky neck, and after a lot of deliberation, I decided I'd go up the stairs and look for her, just to make sure she would be all right. Maybe I'd ask her what she wanted to do next, just to get her mind off of Gob for a while. Maybe I'd get her into finding her dad again.

When I got up to the museum level, she wasn't there. I looked around the gift shop a bit, but I didn't find a trace of her. All I could see were test stations for some sort of scientific experiment. It all looked like mumbo jumbo to me, so I didn't put much effort into trying to understand it. All I could get from it was that someone had been here first, and they were trying to run a bunch of experiments. It pretty much looked like they all gave up one day and just left, though. I was poking around one of the stations when I looked up and saw the door to the rotunda. I decided I'd check there.

I pushed open the door, stepping in quietly. Inside, there was this huge circular room built on top of another pool of water. I didn't see the kid, but I could hear someone talking. It was a man's voice. Of course, I got all defensive at this—I wasn't one for trust, especially not for someone who was lurking about in the old Jefferson Memorial. I pulled my shotgun into my hands, and I started up the short iron wrought steps, looking around warily for the kid.

When I got to the top, I could see that the entire rotunda was converted into some sort of control room. There were monitors and old computers everywhere. I assumed that it was from the same people who'd set up the experimenting stations up all over the museum, and I felt a little weirded out, for some reason. I could hear the man's voice drifting from around the bend, and I approached cautiously, but something felt off. It wasn't like there was a man talking to the kid, but his voice was recorded and being played back or something. When I got closer, I could see the kid sitting on the floor, clutching her Pip-Boy in front of her face. Her back was to me, but I could tell she was on edge, or at the very least, excited about what she was listening to. When I stopped a few feet behind her, I caught the last of the recording.

"_...well hidden in some sort of garage... but I'll find it. I have to. I'm so close, but that's the story of Project Purity, isn't it? An eternity of almost theres..."_

There was more, but I didn't catch it. I was watching her, trying to figure out the situation. When it ended, the kid lowered her arm, and stayed seated on the ground for a long time. She turned around and looked at me, and I stared back for a while. I didn't know anything about what she was listening to, but I started to make some assumptions once I caught the look on her face. Her eyes were getting pink around the edges, and I could see tears starting to form. I looked away, then started back out of the rotunda, my shotgun held loosely in my right hand. She needed time to be alone. There wasn't anything I could do for her, anyway. If I could tell it to her now, I'd say I was sorry. Fuck... that was a shitty time.

* * *

My Pip-Boy read six in the evening, and I'd decided I'd spent enough time sitting in the control room of Project Purity. When I found the holotapes and listened to them, I should have been elated to find information on my father's whereabouts, but I felt defeated somehow. Perhaps it was because Gob was already dead, and I was too late, making the revelation of finding this information less triumphant. I'd failed so many already. How could I go to my father now? I felt my only place was by his side, but I felt I wouldn't be able to walk in his shadow, not anymore. Not now that I knew who I was, the failures I was capable of. I blamed myself for everything. Self-wallowing is a weakness, let alone completely foolish, but I couldn't help myself. When I saw Charon look down at me and turn away, I felt torn. I was hoping he would say something, but it was wishful thinking. It was a blow, though, to have him leave me alone. Perhaps that was how I should have stayed from the start: on my own.

I returned to the basement, and I found him sitting on a bunk bed, tuning his shotgun. When he saw me coming, he pointed to the table in the middle of the room. "I found some more stimpaks for you," he grunted quietly, "just in case your rib is giving you hell."

"Thank you," I said quietly. He didn't look me in the eye, and when I looked to his, I quickly looked away, like I'd committed some taboo. I felt ashamed to show my face, I think. I felt like he was judging me. It was an irrational thought, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't help but think and feel many things.

I picked up a stimpak, and turned away to a hidden nook in the room. I lifted up my dirty hoodie gently, wincing as the movement sent fiery daggers through my side. My entire right side was black and blue, and a distinctive sore could be seen where I'd struck the ground after the yao guai threw me of its back. I'd claimed it to be a simple fracture, but it was worse than I wanted it to be. After a few seconds of looking over my wound, I stuck the needle of the stimpak in my lower side (which hurt immensely) and injected the medicine into my body. It would have to do until I could find a doctor living in a town that wasn't likely to have one of my many enemies in it. I let the hoodie fall gently again, and I groaned, leaning up against the wall. It hurt very much.

I decided I would spend the night in the memorial before departing west to find my father. He said in his notes that he'd left behind that he was going to look for any notes or memoirs left behind of a man living in Vault 112 in order to help Project Purity function. The notes weren't specific on what the project was about, but I could only assume it was for clean drinking water. I sighed. Revelation 21:6 was my mother's favourite passage, and her dream... no wonder my father left Vault 101 behind for this project. He wanted to finish what he'd started before I was born. Even my very life interrupted the wills of others. I was merely a burden on everyone, including my father.

As I leaned against the wall of the nook, I listened to the sounds of Charon tuning his shotgun. _Charon_. He and Gob truly had been comforts for me in the last few days of my seemingly never ending journey. I felt better having the bitter man around, and I felt better once I'd befriended Gob in the foul room of the slave house. I cared about them. Now that Gob was gone, I felt like more of a failure than ever. The sounds of the shotgun disassembling calmed me, and I decided what I wanted to do.

I rounded the corner from the nook, sitting down on the bunk across from Charon. I saw him hesitate ever so slightly as he flickered his eyes from the gun to me, but he quickly continued his work. He'd moved a barrel into the middle of the floor, and a fire was burning steadily inside, with a few strips of mole rat meat hanging over the flaming mouth. The smell was a little discouraging, but it still made my stomach growl. I knew that I would only throw the food up shortly after I ate it, but putting something in my stomach was more appealing than going hungry. I sighed, putting the thought aside, and mustering my courage. Finally, I looked up at Charon, watching him fiddle with a specific part on the barrel.

"Charon," I started quietly. Charon paused and looked up, staring right back at me. He waited for me to continue, so I asked: "when you were with Schafer, did you enjoy his company?"

He looked like he was calculating his answer efficiently in his mind, and his eyes searched the ground for a moment. "Yeah, I did." He seemed quiet, distant, like he was trying to be sympathetic with me.

I felt my heart quicken when I started my next question. "And me?" I said, averting my eyes purposefully, "do you enjoy my company?"

I wondered if his contract would require him to answer me to the best of his ability, but I did not order him to be honest with me. After a while, I looked back up, and I saw him staring at me. "Yeah," he said, slower, quieter, "I do."

I held his eyes for a second, before I nodded weakly and looked away again. I was overjoyed to hear this; I was convinced that he had hated my presence since he first laid eyes on me. At the same time, however, I felt sadness grip me. He was yet another person I had to disappoint. I wondered what would happen to him briefly before I asserted: "I've found out where my father has gone. He went far out into the west, to Vault 112."

"That's where we're headed, then?" Charon asked, trying to sound genuine with his raspy voice.

"No."

His hands rested on either end of the gun, and he looked back at me intently. I diverted my eyes to the fire, and I flexed my jaw. "No, Charon, I'm going alone."

"You hold my contract," Charon reminded me, "I'd be more comfortable following you."

I looked to my Pip-Boy, then I began to search through my inventory for Charon's contract. It materialized between my fingers, and I looked upon it, considering it. It was as if I held his heart in my hand. "Your contract..." I muttered quietly, "your contract means a lot to you."

"Yes," he answered, his hands tightening slightly on the shotgun.

"It's a part of you, it represents the greater part of your life, it represents you as Scavo, it represents your chains..." I dared to look up at him. "It's given you so much grief. I feel like I am this contract. For you, for others. I've nothing good to offer anyone."

He seemed concerned, and I suppose he had the right to be. I stood from the bed, staring intently into his eyes. I wanted to take every last moment I could, I wanted to remember this image of him, watching me. I considered that what I was about to do could destroy him, but somehow I knew it would be better for him, better for both of us. I would redeem him, redeem myself, and though I would be alone, I would remember that he enjoyed my company. He was my friend.

I moved my hand over the burning barrel, and I dropped the contract inside.

* * *

I thought she was acting odd, even for her, but when that paper touched the flames, I didn't give a shit. I felt like something just stabbed me in the gut and twisted my insides around. My breath froze and my mind exploded in my head—my contract, fuck, my contract! FUCK!

I jumped up from the bed, pieces of my shotgun flying everywhere as I dashed for the fire. The kid seemed to spring into action, and she dashed forward to meet me. If she surprised me by dropping my contract in the fire—my contract, practically half of my fucking identity—she surprised me more by ramming her shoulder hard into my chest, trying to get in my way of saving my contract. My hands came down hard on her shoulders, and I tried to throw her to the side, but she hooked her leg in between mine and grasped the front of my leather armour, tripping me down on top of her.

I yelled this real feral yell, like I'd actually turned into one of those mindless zombies, and I forced my hands and knees up on either side of her, pulling myself back up. She kept herself attached to my front, and I grabbed her by the hair, yanking her off me. I knew that with my contract, grabbing at her like that would've caused me hell, but it didn't right then. She wasn't my mistress anymore, and she didn't hold my contract. It was burning, oh fucking Christ, it was burning! I'd dive into that barrel to get it out and burn myself before I'd let this kid stop me; the insanity was pulling me away again, and I needed to save my contract, I'd kill her to get to my contract, for fuck's sake. Her scream was muted by the buzzing in my ears—the contract burning was louder.

When I'd yanked her to the side, I practically jumped to the barrel again, reaching out to try and save the burning paper. Before I could burn my hand in the flames and grab it, the kid put her foot in front of mine from behind me again, and shoved me forward forcefully. She wasn't strong, but she knew how to spar pretty good. I tripped forward into the bunk bed, yelling out again. I pushed away from the bed frame and launched myself back, and her foot connected with my middle. I leaned over, winded, but I was still trying to move toward the fire. I heard it hit the ground as she kicked it over, the contents spilling onto the concrete floor with an ashen crumble sound to it. I put my hand out and shoved her aside as I made for the fire, but she grabbed my wrist, trying to pull me back. I rounded on her, clenching my fist and swiping at her jaw. She ducked, pivoting on her ankle and coming up behind me. Her hand let go of my wrist, but she quickly jumped onto my back, wrapping her forearm around my neck and ramming her fist into my kidney.

I tried to clamber toward the fire, but her punches made me fall. I didn't think it would do that much, but I couldn't even stay on my feet when she hit my sides. When I fell to my knees, she rammed her elbow into the back of my neck, trying to stun me. She missed though, and I took the opportunity to buck her off my back. Her arm hung onto me just barely as I got to my feet, and I could feel her trying to scramble back up to deal me another blow. I was like a fucking rabid dog at this point, and I wasn't about to let her stop me from saving my contract, from saving myself. I let my body fall back, and I fell to the floor like a tree.

I fell on top of her pretty heavily, and I knew she was trying to scramble out of the way of the fall, but all of my weight crushed her beneath me. The breath flew from her lungs in a surprised gasp, and her grip on me relaxed. I didn't waste any time—I jumped to my feet, then dived to the pile of dying fire on the floor. I threw burned crap all over the floor, trying to find my contract. Most things were starting to simmer down into embers, pieces of burnt scrap and ash simmered everywhere, but I couldn't find my contract anywhere. Oh, fuck me. It was gone, turned to dust. It didn't exist anymore.

The weight of the insanity that came crashing down on me was indescribable. I felt like every sort of manageable torture possible was suffocating my brain. I growled out ferociously, and my hands gripped my wisps of hair. I didn't think it was possible, but this was fucking worse than when I'd lost my contract on both accounts. Each time, I'd seen it in the kid's hands again, and she saved me from my hell. This time, she'd caused it, and she couldn't take it away again. I was going to die, there was no way I couldn't live through this. Oh, fuck, it was so heavy, so dark—I needed to get out! The first thought that came to me was red hot anger, and I clung to it like stink clings to rotting flesh on a ghoul, and I rounded from the pile of burnt remains on the ground, running towards where the kid still lay. I pulled my knife, and with another feral yell, I'd jumped on top of her, screaming into her face as I held a hand down on her chest and my blade under her throat.

I wanted to yell a few choice words to her, but all I could manage was that real angry, wild like howl. She looked like she was dead on the ground, but I could feel her thick heartbeat under my hand. I wanted to slice her throat open, take her life like she'd taken mine. What the fuck was the bitch thinking? She knew exactly what that contract meant—hell, she'd even chatted about it like someone would about how to cook radroach meat, but she still dropped it into the fire, she still burned me, sent me to hell. Was she trying to be a saint? All I could think of was how angry I was, how damaged I felt, how I just wanted to kill the sorry bitch right then and there, but I just kept yelling into her face, and my knife shook in my hand from under her chin.

Her thin hand came around my wrist gently, and her eyes opened halfway slowly. Her mouth parted a bit, like she was going to say something, but she stayed silent. I don't know when, but I stopped yelling at some point when she looked at me. The void was still sucking me in, but when I looked her in the eye, things in reality became painfully more obvious to me, like the way she was looking at me, the way that I felt about her. I could notice that I was hovering on top of her, my hand was clamped down on her chest and moved with her breathing, and that I couldn't kill her, not even after she destroyed me.

I growled loudly, pulling my wrist from hers, throwing the knife across the room, and pushing myself off to the side. I drew my knees up and rested my arms on them again, holding myself in that same tight ball. Every time I was without my contract, I felt it was hard not to draw myself together like some sort of scared kid. _My contract is gone, my contract is gone_, oh, fuck, what do I do without my contract? _Kid, why the fuck did you do this to me?_

Time got compressed again, and I didn't know what time it was or how long I'd been there. Without sunlight or lack thereof, I didn't know if I was there for hours or for days. The pressure was so much, so possessive and crippling. I couldn't find myself, I was lost. I felt like I'd already died, and I was just wandering around hell, waiting for someone to come show me where to go. I was still waiting for my contract, even though I knew it'd never come back. Shit, I was terrified. I didn't want to be there, and I just wanted to get out, but I didn't know how—

Like I said, I had no sense of time, but I could kind of tell when the pain started to get weaker. I didn't think it was possible; I thought I'd spend the rest of my life curled up in a pathetic little ball. After a while, I found I could think my own thoughts again, I could curse that kid freely for doing this to me. Eventually, though, I started to climb back out of that abyss in my head. I think the contract started to fade out, which was a big fuckin' surprise. "Big fuckin' surprise"... that was my own thought, wasn't it?

I still felt trapped, but eventually I looked up. I was still in the bunk room in the Jefferson Memorial, not in hell. The barrel was still toppled over from where the kid had kicked it, and the ashes had long since gone cold and black. It was hard to breathe evenly, but I tried to force myself into a proper rhythm before I tried pulling myself out of the ball. After a while, I could stand, and I stayed still for a while, just trying to get myself back together. I stood there for a long time before I felt like I'd returned to something closer to normality. I still felt wounded, like there was a huge gash in my side (except it was in my sanity) but the huge black hole of hell seemed far away now. Shit, I never thought it'd be that easy to recover from my contract. It was all I had known for the majority of my life. Like I said, the pressure was still there, but I could hear again, see again, I didn't feel like I was dying. Anyway, when I'd taken a few deep breaths, I looked to my right where the kid had been lying. She was gone.

My head was still a bit fuzzy with the lack of contract, so I wasn't as worried or shocked as I could've been to not see her there. I looked around slowly a bit, thinking I might see her somewhere else in the room. She wasn't there anymore.

"_I've found out where my father has gone. He went far out into the west, to Vault 112."_

"_That's where we're headed, then?"_

"_No. No, Charon, I'm going alone."_

Now that I was on my feet again, and I could remember my last conversation with her, it was easier to see why she did what she did. She'd been through a lot of crap, and she probably was hoping she'd be doing me a favour by getting rid of my other half and leaving me behind. At the time, it wasn't. It still wasn't now. I was really fucking unstable, even though I was feeling like heaven at the moment compared to my hell before. Maybe, in the long run, it would be best for me. She'd made me a free person to my own devices. Fuck, she really was full of surprises.

I didn't have to follow her anymore; she didn't have my contract, nor did my contract exist. It made me uneasy, but I kept thinking about her, just to keep things sane. Now, think whatever the fuck you want, but thinking about her made me feel better. I guess she was my only friend, one of the few I'd ever had, and I worried about her. Fuck, I could even go as far as saying I cared about her. There was still a little bit of anger boiling around in my head, but it was easy to get rid of once I thought about her face, how she looked with my knife to her throat. She obviously didn't want me coming with her, probably because she was full of guilt or some shit like that, but I didn't care what she was rationalizing with at this point. Just like going on that trek to look for my contract made me feel more comfortable with consciousness, going after her seemed to be the only thing I actually wanted to do now.

I went around the room, collecting pieces of my shotgun and putting them back together. When it was reassembled, I picked up the rest of my supplies, cleaned myself off a bit, ate some rations, then left the memorial. I wasn't an expert on tracking, but I'd hoped that she hadn't gotten too far from the ruins for me to pick up her trail.

When I got outside, it was dark. I traveled down south of the river a bit, trying to avoid both D.C. and the Citadel. There was a dry part on the Potomac, and I crossed, heading west. I could only hope she'd gone the same way I did. The more I thought about catching up with her, the better I felt. Maybe I'd be able to say I was sorry. _God damn, why don't I even know her name yet?_


	13. Friendship is an Enigma

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Thirteen: Friendship is an Enigma

I passed out on the cold hard floor in the subbasement of the Jefferson Memorial. The last thing I remembered was watching Charon draw himself into a small ball. I knew that the contract had a vital grip on him, and that he would react violently to my actions, but I knew deep down that this was for the better. He needed to be broken before he could live. I still felt immense fear and guilt as I drifted off into unconsciousness, though; there was a chance I was wrong.

When I woke up, Charon was still in the same place a few feet away from me, but he didn't show any signs of realizing I was conscious. I sat up on my elbows, wincing slightly as I did. My body was wracked with pain. I had no idea how long I'd been lying there, but the pain in my ribs and my chest were still vibrant. I could practically still feel the weight of his body dropping on top of me, crushing me. I could still feel the cold steel of the blade on my throat, his heated eyes on me. He had enjoyed my company, and I threw it away willingly, for his sake. I looked upon him sadly for a moment before I started to my feet. I hurt all over, and it was hard to move, but my will was stronger than the pain. When my feet were planted firmly on the ground and I stood tall, I collected one more stimpak from the table before I left the room. I couldn't bring myself to look at Charon crumpled into himself again.

The stimpak helped dull the pain slightly, but I still felt weak and drained. I started up the stairs slowly, but each step I took away from him felt like a goodbye. Maybe I'd get the chance to see him again some day once the hate that loomed over my head from my many enemies died down. Perhaps I'd get the chance to explain myself. Then again, it might be best if I never saw him again. I only hoped he would make it through his insanity.

When I left the memorial, it was afternoon. I must have been unconscious for at least twenty hours. I stood on the spot, weighing my options. I thought it would be best to stick to the open Wastes rather than travel near the Citadel again. I started south down the river, constantly checking for any possible threats. I was unarmed now, and I was extremely vulnerable in my condition. Luckily, I saw no one, and I was not attacked.

About a mile or so down the bank of the Potomac, the river ran dry, and I was able to cross. Old vehicles and artifacts lined the river's bare floor, and I maneuvered around them carefully, not because I didn't want to disturb them, but because I felt that I was walking on dangerous ground, and if I made one mistake, I would fall and stay down. I reached the other side quickly, and I departed west again, heading for that garage, heading towards my father. I could only hope that Vault 112 was my last destination before I was reunited with him again. Since nearly two months had gone by since he had made those recordings, I only assumed he had moved on, but I still hoped I could stop looking, I hoped I could put everything behind me.

Hours went by, and I started to feel more sore and sick. My steps slowed a bit, and the horizon seemed to be crawling further away from me, taunting me mercilessly. I was thirsty, hungry, and very tired, despite the fact I had several hours of rest under my belt. The sun was extremely hot as well, and it worked against me, washing waves of heat over my body, slowing me further. The radiation in me left my fingers and toes tingling, and it plagued me with an uneasy feeling that resided in my stomach constantly. I hoped that Vault 112 had the means necessary to treat me. I'd never been so worn and torn in the Wasteland before. Perhaps I was arrogant to think I was cut out for survival. Perhaps, after all that had happened before, I'd just gotten lucky with everything.

I could see Tenpenny Tower looming in the distance. I'd never been this far west, so I had never seen it before, but I heard several stories of the notorious apartment complex from across the greater D.C. area. I planned to keep clear of the place out of principle; I tended not to get along well with others, and I was certain I would not be more lucky in Tenpenny's abode. But as I traveled further and further west, I felt closer to desperation than I could ever remember, and I seriously considered begging for sanctuary at the gates. It was likely that I wouldn't make it to Vault 112 in a day. I would have to find some refuge, somewhere to recuperate...

I accidentally tripped over my own feet, and I stumbled forward onto my hands and knees. My hair fell around my face, and I started to breathe heavily. I could feel another wave of nausea coming on, and I clumsily brushed my hair over to one side before the stream of stomach acid came pouring from my mouth. It burned terribly, but I had become so used to vomiting that the feeling was somehow muted. As I spit out the last of the waste, I started to climb to my feet again, but my knees wobbled dangerously, and I collapsed a few feet away. Instead of landing on my hands and knees this time, though, I fell heavily onto my side, but the ground felt soft, like my body had gone numb and I could no longer feel. _Oh, no, get up, you have to move,_ I thought, but my strength never came back. I groaned, fighting with my arms to pull myself up into a sitting position at the least, but they merely shook with the weakened effort. After several attempts to lift myself failed, I resorted to resting in the dirt. Worry came over me then. It was likely I would die. If a stranger or an enemy didn't pass me by first, death's clammy hands would surely find me.

I thought about all that had happened then, all the people I had failed. Living on neutral ground had been the safest decision I could make in the Wastes, but my desire to return to a state of normality had dragged so many into despair. I wondered when Carol would learn of her son's ill fate. I thought on Amata, whose father had been stolen from her by my hand, and how she was living her life now. I could see the faces of the fallen in Paradise Falls, the eyes of the accusing when I ran from Megaton. My father's smiling face was starting to fade in my memory, and even his voice sounded strange to my mind when I had played the recordings. My head was wracked with these guilts until I thought of Charon. I gasped as a knifing pain shot up my ribs, and I was certain it was despair instead of injury. He was the last friend I had, and I sacrificed it for his future. I was sure that he hated me now.

As I lay in the dirt, writhing weakly in pain, my thoughts started to drift from the dark to the heart warming. I coughed a little as a sore pain tickled my lungs, but a small smile came to my lips. I thought about the way he would strut behind me silently, holding his shotgun just so. I could remember my hand placed gently on his chest with his gun in my face; the way it felt when he brushed my hair away from my neck; the way he had looked at me before I dropped part of him into the fire. I realized then that Charon's rotting appearance and dead eyes meant nothing to me, they never did. Nor did his foul attitude ever anger me in the slightest. I suppose he was meant to be my friend, whether we wanted it or not. Charon was important to me, and he always would be. Another smile pulled at my lips. A few more memories filtered through my head, and I caught myself forming his name on my lips, but the sound never came. I started to feel myself being pulled into the dark, and I fought feebly to stay awake, but the tide was so strong. _Charon,_ I started to think as the darkness claimed me, but I never completed the thought. I wondered briefly if I'd ever wake up again before everything retreated from me.

* * *

I caught up with her a couple miles south of Tenpenny Tower. It was impossible to tell from my distance if it was actually her or not, but I could see the way the figure was walking, with slow movements and staggering steps, and I knew it had to be her. I was on top of a slight hill, so I could see her in the distance, wandering alone in the huge expanse of desert. I felt like a fucking moron when I felt torn between running after her and staying put in my spot. I wanted to stop her and drag her back to Underworld to get treatment, but at the same time, I was... I dunno, nervous. It was like I was embarrassed to see her again. When I saw her trip, fall, and lay still, though, I had different priorities than embarrassment. I jogged down the hill, then kept a steady pace as I made my way over to her.

It took me about twenty minutes, but when I got closer to her, I started to slow down. I was a little apprehensive of what I might find. My worst fear was that she'd simply keeled over and died. I never thought I'd be one to say I had fears, but I knew what it was as I walked up to her. Her hair was blown about everywhere, and she was still. I paused a few feet away from her, then I slung my shotgun over my shoulder before kneeling down beside her.

I kind of just sat there for a second, trying to look at her face through her hair. After a second, I brushed it away with the back of my hand, looking into her face. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was open slightly, and a thin, rattly breath came in and out rhythmically from them. Well, at least she was alive, but she was doing pretty shitty. I realized I'd rested my hand on the side of her face from where I'd brushed her hair away, and I withdrew it quickly, like she knew I'd held my hand there. Fuck, what do I do now? Tenpenny Tower was close, but they weren't about to let a ghoul in, and even if I just left her on the doorstep to get taken in, they'd likely let her rot before they picked her up. Megaton was the next closest place, but like Tenpenny Tower, we were more likely to get lynched than helped. Underworld was at least a day away, and those guys probably hated her as much as everyone else seemed to, but I had no other choice. That was where she'd be most likely get the help she needed.

What was I doing? This kid had cut a pretty deep gash in me by destroying my contract, and even though I felt now like she'd done me a favour, I owed nothing to her. She wasn't my mistress, and I had the right to just leave her there in the dirt. In the beginning, that's what I would've done. That was when I didn't give a shit about anyone, though. I went through a lot with her, and as much as it doesn't seem to agree with me, I liked her, and I didn't want her to die. It was a little hard for me to recognize that and label it, because I was so used to hating everyone, especially smoothskins. After I'd pulled my hand away, I rested it on her face again. _You're gonna be alright,_ I thought to myself.

I snaked my right arm under her neck, then scooped up her legs with my left, pulling her into my arms as I stood. Her body was heavy with dead weight, but she still felt kind of small and fragile in my arms. This kid was anything but helpless, though, so it surprised me. She felt the same in my arms as she did when I carried her into Underworld: broken, beaten, and dying. I might've made a face of worry, but I didn't really notice. I turned around with her lying limp in my arms, and I started off back east, back towards the last place we had to go.

Once in a while, she'd twitch or shift herself around in my arms, but other than that, she showed no sign of being awake. She'd mumble occasionally, too, but nothing coherent. I found myself looking down into her face too often, hoping I'd get to see her eyes. Her head was propped up and cradled between my arm and my chest, making her look more helpless. It was a new side of her for me, I guess, but I couldn't help thinking how perfect she looked, even when she was down on her luck with health. Man, I was a fucking pussy for thinking that, but I didn't care at that moment. As far as I was concerned, it was just her and me now, and no one else was around to call me out on it, so I was content staring at her face every now and again without restraint. Even though I was thinking on how pretty she was, I kept remembering how much trouble she was in. Dark circles surrounded her eyes, and she looked more thin and hollow than before. When I reminded myself of that, I looked away quickly, cursing quietly under my breath, and picked up the pace a little bit. Fuck, this was Gob all over again.

I was making good time when dusk was making its appearance. I was surprised to find that there weren't any threats to meet us out here, but I was still on edge. If anything or anyone attacked us, I'd be at an obvious disadvantage, not being able to collect my shotgun or my knife. It was weird, not coming face to face with any sort of Wasteland trash. I suppose I should've been counting my lucky stars instead of wondering why I hadn't been eaten alive yet. I looked to the kid again. _Man, you pull some stupid shit sometimes, kid,_ I thought to myself. I admired some of the stuff she did, though. She really was something else. I couldn't imagine anyone else even thinking of throwing my contract into the fire selflessly, knowing full well there was a big chance I'd blow his head off. But she had, and I knew it was out of that odd habit of hers to be some sort of Hero of the Wastes. I suppose she was having an effect on me by making me want to help her. I only hoped I could help her.

The sun was setting, but I didn't have any intentions to camp out for the night. I'd keep going through the dark until I made it back to Underworld. I didn't know if I had any time to spare to rest for the night anyway, and even if I did, I wouldn't. She seemed fine enough sleeping in my arms, and I didn't need any more sleep, anyway. Even if I did want to sleep, all the thoughts buzzing in my head wouldn't let me rest. I was passing a tall rock formation on my right side when I heard someone yell.

I dropped to my haunches almost immediately, turning on the balls of my feet to see where the shout had come from. There was a group of Wastelanders all standing around in a circle, arguing. I thought maybe they'd spotted us and were debating whether or not to charge, but they kept bickering to each other like a couple of bitches. It was dark, but there was still enough light for me to see them. I could pick out a couple of familiar faces, including Jericho's. They were all thugs from Megaton, probably sent out by Moriarty. They were probably out looking for us. I was too far away to hear what they were saying, but I heard Jericho shout in another guy's face, saying, "they're not gonna be this far out south, you fucking twat! We should be in D.C. now!"

The other guy snapped something back, and Jericho turned away from him, cursing out loud and kicking the dirt. "All right, we stay south, but we make our way east, all right?"

Fuck me. I cursed, keeping low to the ground. After a little more bickering, they started out towards D.C. I couldn't keep traveling tonight, not without getting noticed. I thought I'd let them get a few hours head start ahead of me, maybe give them enough time to circle away out of our path. I looked up to the rocks behind me, and I noticed a deep hollow cave tucked away in the back. Making sure I wasn't in eyesight of the assholes, I kept low to the ground and climbed the slope towards the cave. I kept my eyes on them, but I was being stealthy enough for them not to notice me. When we made it to the top, I climbed into the cave. It was small, and a little too short for me, but it was deep enough that we could stay at the back and not get spotted easily. Trying to be careful, I got to my knees, and laid the kid down on the cold, hard, dirty ground. She didn't so much as stir as I put her down, and I spent a minute just staring at her. Her breathing had become thinner, and her brow was furrowed a little bit more. She was probably in a lot of pain.

I sat there against the rock wall beside her, pulling my shotgun into my lap and keeping my eyes on the cave entrance, waiting for one of those fuckers to stumble across it. Of course, I was hoping no one would come find us, but I was ready for it.

I didn't take the time to notice, but that abyss that was in the back of my mind didn't seem to be there anymore. That wore off pretty quick. Then again, I'd lost track of time when I was stuck in there, but I never thought I'd be able to pull myself away from hell so easily. I guess I had the kid to thank for that. Hah. One minute I wanted to destroy her, the next I wanted to thank her. I couldn't sort myself out sometimes. I looked over to her once in a while, just to see if she'd woken up. She seemed to look more pained by the second.

I think about half an hour passed when the world went dark, lit only by a bit of moonlight. I heard no one coming, nor did I think anyone would come. We were safe for now, but I couldn't risk carrying her out in the open, not when the Megaton bunch were on our trail. We'd be done in pretty quickly if that were the case. I kept switching my head from the cave entrance to the kid every five minutes or so, and eventually I noticed that she was shivering.

In the Wastes, it could get real hot during the day in the summer months (supposedly—I couldn't remember what weather was like in the Wasteland while I was in Underworld, but I heard it through other conversations) and really cold during the night. I couldn't risk trying to build a fire in the cave—that would've been like a neon sign saying "COME FIND ME" in real big comic letters. That being said, I had nothing to keep her warm, either. She groaned a bit in her sleep, and I looked at her as she shook, feeling pretty low of myself. Fuck, this whole situation just pissed me off. She should've known better than to go prancing about the Wasteland with a broken body and enough radiation poisoning to sprout a couple new limbs. After a few moments of me kicking myself mentally, an idea came to my mind that made me feel... awkward, I guess. I looked down at her, considering her, considering myself, before I moved my shotgun out of my lap and grabbed her shoulders, pulled her onto her side and towards me, then draped her over my lap. I let my one arm rest across her, but I straightened out my legs and leaned back a bit, like I was trying to avoid touching the rest of her. I don't know why. I guess I felt uncomfortable. As far as I could remember (now that I had most of my memories back) I had absolutely no experience with personal space or physical contact with other people, let alone women. I felt like a fucking dumb ass, though, squirming like I was. I was just trying to keep her warm. That didn't stop that uneasy feeling from coming, though. Man, I was pathetic.

What was worse was the thoughts that came floating to the top of my head once her shivers started to die down. I felt like some old pervert, holding this sick girl in my lap, remembering the things I'd kept buried that were even more inappropriate for the situation. I remembered the dreams that I had about her that I didn't want to admit to. It was probably a self preservation thing. I mean, a lot of men probably had the same kind of thoughts about her, but for me, it was a shot in the fucking dark. I was less appealing than a cup full of brahmin shit. Still, that didn't stop me from remembering the feeling of her legs wrapped around me in my dream. She shuddered a bit again, and I pushed it away, cursing myself up and down. She was fucking sick, and I was being a pathetic douche. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push away those thoughts, trying to not let the fact that she was draped across me let me get out of hand. I shifted a bit, leaning my head against the wall and growling in frustration. What the fuck was wrong with me? I was still me, but I was so fucking weak when it came to anything about the kid. I kind of wish I could have my hard ass demeanor back, but at the same time, I didn't. For some god damned pathetic reason, I didn't want to lose the feeling I had about her. I used to hate people like that. Then again, I used to hate everyone.

After a while, I caught myself looking down at her again. The moonlight coming into the cave was dim, but it bounced off her hair, making it look silver. I remembered the sort of shock I felt the first night I was in her employ, seeing her propped up on her elbows, looking at me with something similar to sympathy, and how I realized how good she looked. The same sort of feeling came back, and I think the corners of my mouth twitched a bit. Her platinum blonde hair was unnatural, but it made her look like something out of a fantasy, like she was too good to be true, maybe. My hand twitched as I considered reaching for her several times, and I finally did before I could stop myself, resting it on top of her head.

Her hair was surprisingly soft and silky, considering she'd been out in the Wastes for months without a proper bath. It should've been full of knots, and it should've felt matted, but it felt like luxury. I kept thinking of how I should tear my hand away from her head and stop touching her then, but I kept it there. It kind of felt like I was stealing, though, by touching her like that. I had this paranoid feeling that she'd wake up and yell me hoarse, but she didn't. After a minute or two, I gave in to the impulse to stroke her hair.

Now I've done it—I'm a full blown bitch. I was really glad no one could see tall intimidating Charon stroking some girl's hair affectionately. Even so, I felt embarrassed to be doing it myself, but that didn't change the fact that it felt... nice, even calming. As I stroked her head again, I let my fingers run through her hair, but then I stopped. That calming feeling died out really fast after that pulling feeling surrounded my fingers. I lifted my hand, fingers still in a slight claw, and I held it in front of my face, looking at the clump of silvery hair that I'd pulled from her head. The strands lay limp in my hand, floating about a bit in my fingers like a dead man's clothes in the breeze. I felt dread fill me, and I lowered my hand from my face, dropping the clump of hair to the side and putting my arm over her again, pulling her closer. I think if I were anyone else, and I even had the ability to do it, I would've cried then. It takes a lot of balls to admit that, but I really was wrecked over it. _Kid, why did you do this?_

* * *

The only time I could remember feeling sheepish and awkward was when Paul Hannon invited me to the Vault-Tec Class Dance. We were seventeen, but I'd never thought of any boy in such a way, so the invite surprised me. I spent my whole life avoiding everyone, save for my father and Amata, and I hadn't spoken to any of my other peers since my tenth birthday. I was cold, reserved, seemingly unemotional, so when Paul asked me on what could have been classified as a date, I felt like an animal caught in a trap. The uneasiness spreading within me was unbearable, considering I had never felt it before, so the only thing I could do was withdraw myself further. I did not give an answer to Paul, nor did I talk to anyone for a few days, not even my father. Eventually, he sniffed me out, though, and one night he cornered me as I came in from work, before I could retreat to my room. I thought he was going to start by trying to pry me open and get me to tell him what was wrong, but he already knew. After he asked me to sit with him, he gave me a lopsided grin, and said, "I heard Paul asked you to the dance."

My pale face must have flared incredibly when he said this, for he chuckled heartily for a bit. I looked away, and after fidgeting inconspicuously for a moment, I gave a small nod.

"And?" he prompted, leaning forward on the couch and placing his elbows on his knees, "what did you say?"

"I haven't said anything," I replied quietly. "I'm not going."

"Oh, honey," he said, giving a warmer smile. I didn't look him straight in the face to see it, though. For some reason, I couldn't. "Is it because you're nervous?"

"No," I replied honestly, "it's because I'm not interested."

"Well, I suppose you can't be forced into liking someone," he said, leaning back on the couch, "and I know I should be glad I don't have to worry about chasing boys off of you with a stick, but... is there something else wrong?"

I felt like I was a small test subject in a petri dish being scrutinized by a board of scientists. I squirmed a bit in my chair, steadfastly avoiding my fahter's gaze. "No," I replied quietly, "I'm simply not interested."

"The only person you seem interested in is Amata."

"What are you saying?" I nearly snapped, looking to him with my flaring cheeks deepening in colour. He looked at me with a shocked and confused expression for a moment, before the look dissolved into amusement, and he laughed out loud.

"Oh, honey, I didn't mean that!" He laughed, shaking his head. "All I mean is, in all these years, you've only had her as a friend. It seemed you never gave anyone else a chance. It wouldn't hurt to make new friends, maybe socialize a bit with others."

"I'm content with Amata as my friend," I said, not sternly in the slightest, "I simply don't take to anyone else my age."

"Yes, you're very mature for someone your age, dear," he asserted with a nod. "I just... I was afraid you'd drawn yourself into a shell, and you were set on spending your life in solitude simply because you were afraid to give others the chance to know you."

I was about to disagree with him, but I looked away, considering it. "The only people I will ever meet already live in this Vault," I replied, folding my hands in my lap. "I won't have the chance to meet... the right person."

He looked at me wearily, then nodded his head with a sigh. "As long as you're happy, honey," he said with a smile. He slapped his hands on his knees lightly, sitting up straight. "Well, while we're here, is there anything else bothering you?"

I laughed. It sounded like he was a salesman, trying to sell my worries away like they were junked parts. I knew he meant well, but the gesture just sounded funny for him. "You've spent your years only speaking with me and Jonas," I said with a smile, trying to sound anything other than accusing, "after mother died, didn't you shut everyone out?"

His face faded into something close to surprise and sadness. He sighed again, looking away from me and rubbing the corners of his eyes with his thumb and fore finger. "When your mother died, I felt alone. More alone than ever. I suppose you have a point... I don't take to most people in this Vault, either. The selection for friends isn't exactly diverse, is it?"

"Do you think..." I hesitated, feeling that unfamiliar sensation of embarrassment seeping into my stomach again, "do you think you'll ever fall in love again, father?"

"Hah!" he laughed, though something about it was humourless. He shook his head. "I was a done deal a long time ago."

"I suppose I wouldn't mind companionship," I admitted, staring intently at my hands, "but if I'm to spend the rest of my life alone with Amata as my only friend, I'm happy with that."

"Well... if it makes you happy, I'm glad."

"Thank you."

"I wouldn't give up hope just yet, though," he added, rising from the couch slowly and heading for his room, "you just might meet the right friend some day."

I didn't believe it, but I couldn't help feeling wonder about my future; what might happen, who I might befriend in the Vault. There was something liberating about free will, not knowing where the pieces might fall next. I smiled, the excitement of the future building up inside me. He patted me on the shoulder then, and I smiled up at him. "Good night, Dad," I said, showing my teeth in a cheeky grin. I always called him father, and I reserved "Dad" for the rare moments I felt silly.

He chuckled briefly, returning my smile. "Good night, my little star."


	14. Human After All

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Fourteen: Human After All

I stood still on the spot, with my gun still smoking as the blood from Officer Mack's and the Overseer's heads spilled slowly over the floor. I couldn't move. I had killed another human being—two, to be exact—one being a man who was supervising my officer training. Amata was sitting in the chair in the security office, her hands over her mouth as she looked upon the dead bodies. She gasped disbelievingly once, then slowly rose from her chair. I lowered the gun slowly, my eyes slightly widened as I watched her tremble. She was looking down at her father, whose skin was already paling, before she cried out his name and dropped herself to her knees beside him. I dropped the ten millimeter, watching as my friend gripped at his jacket, squeezing her eyes shut against the sting of tears. Her teeth were gritted and bared, and her hands clenched into fists on her dead father's back. She eventually looked up at me, eyes full of hate, when she asked me with a venomous voice: "how could you do this?"

My father had just escaped the Vault, and all was in disarray. A few people were out for my arrest. I had to leave the Vault behind my father, for I was no longer welcome there. He had brought chaos upon them by opening the door and letting the Wasteland in, and I was the last person to blame. When I had approached the security office on my way out, I could see Officer Mack bent over my friend, beating her with his baton. The Overseer stood behind him, with his hands folded behind his back and his chin held high. I had never felt more enraged, not in all my years. How could a father stand by while his child was beaten by another? How could he even order such a thing? I was blinded by rage, and before I could let reason into my thoughts, I bolted into the room, and shot both men repeatedly in the back of their heads. They died before they even had the chance to turn around and face me. I didn't expect Amata's reaction to be that of contempt; I was led to believe that she had hated her father after all these years, but I... I never stopped to think that he was the only family she had left, just like me. I had taken her father from her. "Amata, I... you..."

"Go find your father," she hissed, "and never come back."

I was alone at that very moment. My father had abandoned me, and I had alienated my last remaining friend. I stood there, dumbfounded, until her face screwed up in pain and she leaned her forehead against her father's body. Oh, God, what have I done?

I slowly backed from the office, the alarm in the Vault's hallways seeming dull and far off compared to the insistent ringing in my ears. No, it wasn't ringing, it was the tingling remainder of Amata's scream as she realized I had filled her father. I took a few steps away from the office before I leaned against the wall next to me. It's interesting to see how a person's reserve can crumble so easily. Social society was on a delicate balance, and it all depended on the next person to behave accordingly in order to keep that delicate framework alive and well. If one person fell from the norm, then the next fell, it became more and more likely that the system would fade like dust in the wind. The Vault had fallen apart simply because my father left, and I was not exempt from that gentle construct. I had become a killer within minutes, and I had lost my dignity shortly after that. Who was I becoming?

I started toward the Overseer's office, my head hung and my shoulders slumped. I was never the same after that, for it was my first exposure to the real truth behind humanity, to the truth behind myself. I wasn't a good person, for "good people" didn't exist. I withdrew into a shell, the one my father had warned me about, and I became detached from the world before I even set foot into it.

* * *

After about an hour, I decided to start moving again. I set my shotgun onto my back securely, then I started to pull the kid gently across my lap, so that it'd be easier to scoop her up. Then I stood (keeping my head ducked, of course) and left the cave. It was darker outside, since the sun was long gone, but I could still see well enough by the moonlight. There was no one and nothing to meet us out there, and that was good, because I still wasn't in a position to defend myself. I started out west again, keeping my eyes open for that lousy fuck Jericho. It wasn't likely that he was still around, but I kept looking routinely in every direction, mostly over my shoulder. Most of all, I kept looking at the kid, seeing if she'd woken up. Most of the time, I ended up just staring into her face, feeling at ease. Christ, I really had to stop doing that.

* * *

I was climbing the stairs to the mall from the underground metro tunnels when I heard the animal's whine. I paused on the steps, taking my knife from my utility belt and gripping it firmly. Most of the time, I did whatever I could to avoid attention in the D.C. ruins, for most of my enemies carried guns larger than me, and they possessed enough strength to grind me into a salt. From the sound of the dog, though, it was injured, and it wouldn't pose any trouble for me. I was still cautious as I approached the top of the escalators, though, for letting my guard down was the most dangerous thing I could do.

I came to the top, and I crouched low, making sure to keep myself hidden. The mall was simply piled with litter and rubble, making it look like the war had happened two months before rather than two hundred years before. I could see evidence of a bunker embedded in the earth, most likely for a colony of super mutants. To the far left of the mall (I wasn't sure what direction it was) I could see the remains of the Washington Monument. It reached into the sky like a horrible cry to heaven; the world was laid to ruin, and it was still standing, making a plea for help. To my right, however, was the dog. It was lying on its side, and it was whining continuously, its breaths coming short and quick, with a slight wheeze to its pants. I should have passed on and made my way to the monument to ask for my father, for James from Vault 101, but found myself creeping slowly toward the injured creature. I didn't put my knife away; I held it tighter, if anything, but I did lower it slightly.

I was crouched low to the ground as I crept to the dog, and it felt like it took minutes to approach it, although it was only yards away. Its head was pointed away from me, and its skin strained across its ribs visibly as it breathed. There was a deep gash in its underbelly, and I could see its insides sitting on the edge of the gash, threatening to spill out with every breath. Blood seeped steadily from its wound, but death wasn't coming quickly enough for the poor animal.

I came to a stop beside the dog, lowering myself to my knees. It was a feral dog, and would have attacked me otherwise, but it merely strained its eye toward me from where it lay, watching me with a panicked, desperate look. I looked back at it with a neutral composure, resting my elbows on my knees, twisting the knife in my hand. The sight of the dog was... I don't know, disheartening, maybe. I'd seen several men and women meet similar to worse fates, but this... the dog would have been my attacker had he not been fatally injured, but now we were meeting on even ground. I never had such an opportunity with any of my other enemies. I stared into its eye for a long time, and it stared back, its constant whine fading out in my ears.

My thoughts suddenly drifted to my father. Was he alive? Had he been as lucky as I to avoid doom? The dying dog somehow made me descend into a state of despair. I would never find him, not in this vast, barren world. I hung my head, letting the dog's whine surround me like an addiction to pessimism. I looked back up again when the whining stopped. The dog had died, its eye frozen toward me.

I could have helped the animal pass its few living moments of life, but I didn't. It wouldn't have been much of a difference if I had anyway; it's death was only seconds away. Would I have known that his death was so close, though? I would have most likely walked away, knife still turning in my hand, while the dog lay awake in agony. I didn't know what the future held... but it also proved that I didn't know myself as well as I would have liked to claim. It was only a dog, but it was life I would have walked away from. It was life that I let die before me. I wouldn't let it happen again. _Father... I'll never stop looking for you._

I stood, looking over the dead animal once more before heading for the monument. Even though I left the corpse behind, I still felt like its eyes were watching me the entire way, haunting me with the dreadful possibility that I would spend my entire life searching. _I'll never stop, _I reaffirmed to myself.

* * *

Schafer and I were sitting inside this bar inside this ghoul city. We were pretty surprised to find it; it was obvious ghouls weren't welcomed in most places, but the thought never crossed our minds that there would be an entire settlement full of them. I think Schafer wanted to hang around there (despite the fact every ghoul seemed to hate his fucking guts) just for my sake. I think maybe he thought I liked it there. I could care less if I was around other people whose faces looked like shredded shit like mine. Truth was, I just wanted to go where Schafer went. It was mostly because he held that contract, but it was also because he was the only person I knew, the only person who seemed to give a damn about me rather than that paper. Anyway, the dumb ass was ordering another round for the both of us when he was already shit-faced, and the bartender started to get a little friendly with us.

"An unusual pair indeed," the guy wheezed, croaking a bit in what I could only assume was a laugh. Schafer chugged a few gulps of his beer, then wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand.

"Whadd'ya mean?" he said, squinting sloppily at the ghoul.

The guy folded his hands in front of him in some sort of weird peaceful gesture, almost as if he were praying. "I only find it curious for a human and a ghoul to be traveling side by side," he replied, bowing his head a bit. I already didn't like this slimy fuck. "What business brings you to Underworld?"

"Tradin', boozin', shit like that," Schafer said, taking another gulp. I think he was doing it because I wasn't even phased yet, and he wanted to prove he could keep up, but I'm pretty sure he would've puked up his liver if he kept drinking like he was. I looked at him sideways, shaking my head a bit, then sipping a bit of the beer myself. God damn, that shit was gross, but it was better than nothing, I suppose.

"Drug trafficking, I assume?" the guy asked. Nosy little bastard, he was.

"Nah, just any crap we can find in the Wastes," Schafer replied. He was running his mouth off, and I didn't like it. Had too much booze in him, I suppose.

"Ah, that's too bad," the ghoul sighed, but it sounded like a goat dying against a grate, "I could always use a reliable supplier."

We fell silent again, and Schafer downed the rest of his beer. "Maybe you should ease up," I said, looking at him sideways. Schafer had told me to be open with him, so I took the liberty of suggesting this. I had visions of me watching over him all night while he puked himself silly over a toilet. Schafer didn't seem to like this, though, 'cause he slammed his empty bottle down on the counter, and growled, "Charon, just keep your trap shut for the rest of the night, will ya?"

"Of course." That was one of my automatic responses when it came to commands. I usually adopted this sort of formal tone when I said something like that, and the bartender's eyes flashed, like he'd caught on to something fishy. I really hated this guy, but I couldn't say anything now.

"My, my," the ghoul said with this shitty sounding chuckle, "you've got quite the leash on your companion, if I might say so, sir."

"Yeah," Schafer said, slapping down a few more caps for another beer and shaking his head groggily, "s'cuz of his contract."

"Contract?"

Fucking piece of shit ass wipe! I knew Schafer wouldn't be sharing this precious piece of information if he was sober, and the fact that he just gave away that information to this sleazy bartender was very, very fucking uncomfortable. I leaned on the counter, balling my hands into fists, glaring at the bartender as he eyed Schafer like he was a piece of meat. Unfortunately for me, Schafer was real outgoing, so he started really getting into his conversation with the maggot.

"Yeah!" Schafer exclaimed, reaching into his satchel and pulling out my contract. I froze, and if I still had hair on my arms, I'm sure they'd be standing on end at that moment. Schafer waved it a bit, then slammed it down on the counter. "He obeys anyone who has that contract."

Agh... fuck, Schafer. I could see the bartender eye the paper hungrily, then look back at me. "Interesting," he said very slowly, and I glared him down. He just smirked in response.

"Yeah... tragic story, I guess," he said, lowering his voice and staring at the paper. I turned to him, waiting to hear more, but all he said was "brainwashed as a kid—listens to whoever has that piece of paper." I'd heard that bit before. I was hoping he knew more about me, but whatever. I didn't want this bartender knowing anything about me. It made me feel on edge.

"Really..."

"Yeah, we've been trudging around together for about a month," Schafer said, throwing his arm around my shoulders sloppily, "he's a good guy to have around." I glared at him from the corner of my eye, but he wasn't looking at me. He was giving this goofy grin to the bartender. I was scowling.

"And might I ask," the bartender asked, folding his arm over his chest and tucking his other hand under his chin, "how much is his company worth?"

I suppose I didn't have any orders to be civil, but I don't know why I reacted like I did. I got up off my stool, wound my fist back, then punched the fucker square in the jaw. He staggered backwards, colliding with his shelf full of booze, knocking some bottles to the ground. Everyone in the bar shut up, some shot out of their seats defensively, including Schafer. His arm was torn from my shoulders when I stood, and he clasped his hand back down on my shoulder, shouting, "what the fuck, Charon?"

I stood there, keeping silent to my orders, obviously. I was breathing pretty heavily, and I probably had a look that could kill on my face. I looked down at Schafer (he was shorter than me, most people were) and he was giving me a pretty angry look himself. "Charon... get the fuck out of here, I don't want to see your face until morning."

My breathing started to even out as I stared back at Schafer. He hadn't been mad at me before, and I felt a little uneasy. I suppose because it felt like a failure to my master, and the contract was starting to drown me in that fucking evil feeling. So, I did only what I could do to avoid that painful place in my mind. "Yes, Schafer," I muttered, before turning from the bar. I only gave that bartender a sparse glance, but I saw something I wasn't expecting, and it bothered me. He was holding his jaw, and he was smiling. I stalked form the bar, and I felt some sort of sinking feeling in my stomach with the craziness that was swallowing me up in my mind. Everyone else in the bar was glaring at me as I left, but I didn't notice. I knew that grin of that bartender meant shit for me, and I was right.

I left Underworld, and walked outside into the open mall. It was dark out, but the moon was full, so there was enough light to see. There were a few super mutants prowling around in the dark, grunting stupid shit to each other. I caught sight of someone else standing closer to me, and I recognized the bright red hair. It was Underworld's sentry. We passed her on the way in, but we didn't exchange words. I didn't approach her, though. I wasn't one for chit chat. I leaned against the wall of the museum, folding my arms over my chest. I'd wait until a few hours after sunrise to go back to Schafer, like he commanded. I was feeling really uncomfortable though, the failure and that bartender's smile giving me hell. I closed my eyes, trying to take in a deep breath. I couldn't ever remember feeling this shitty.

"Long day?" a ghoul said from next to me. I opened my eyes and looked down to see the sentry leaning against the wall next to me, lighting up a cigarette. I didn't say anything. I usually didn't when someone else talked to me.

"Want one?" she asked, holding out the pack of smokes to me. I shook my head without looking at her. She scoffed. "Not the talkative type, are you?"

"No."

"Ah, don't blame you," she said, taking a drag. I could see the embers lighting up in the night. "Not much to talk about these days."

I looked over at her again, because I found myself agreeing with her. She looked up, stuck out her free hand, then said, "Willow."

Introducing myself was something I'd never done, and only did once after that. I looked her up and down a second before I took her hand and shook it. "Charon."

"Hah," she said, returning the shake and pulling away, "like the ferryman on the Acheron, right?"

I looked at her funny for a second. I didn't know that, actually. I didn't know who slapped the name on me, but it came from someone in Paradise Falls. Maybe Schafer gave it to me, but it was most likely the slavers. I was about to ask her what the hell an Acheron was, when I realized that she lived inside a museum, more specifically, a concourse devoted to all things Afterlife. She'd probably picked it up somewhere in one of the exhibits. I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Fitting, I suppose," she said. I thought she was smiling with the smoke between her flaky lips.

We spent most of the hours in silence, the hours where Ahzrukhal sweet talked Schafer into shit I wasn't aware of. Hours when Schafer fell asleep, and Ahzrukhal slit his throat while I was away. I don't know when it happened, but... I wished I hadn't acted out like that. Maybe Schafer wouldn't have sent me away. Maybe I'd still be with him now. Then again, if I were with Schafer, I might never have met _her_. Not Willow, but that kid. It's just a fucking shame Schafer died. Sometimes... I don't know.

* * *

It's frightening how the mind works, how one can be entirely oblivious to the things happening around them. The mind is such a limiting thing, but at the same time, it gives us the ability to live in the world. I think I had taken for granted the day to day things that were so beautiful. Sometimes it's easy to forget how precious things are until they're gone.

Suddenly, I was aware that I was being carried. The thought that someone was actually carrying me didn't come to mind immediately, I could just feel myself bob along with someone's steps. After that, the horrible sickness came flooding back, wracking my body with pain. I could only stay still, letting it tear at me from every orifice. I might have scrunched my toes in my boots against the burning, but I couldn't do anything else, not for the moment. Eventually, a moan came out of my lips, and the walking stopped. That was when I realized I was in someone's arms. I wondered vaguely who had picked me up and where they were taking me, but I could feel the leather from beneath my cheek, and the familiar roughness of a ghoul's skin wrapped around my shoulders and under my legs. My breath might have hitched when the thought came across my mind that it might be Charon, but I doubted myself. He wouldn't come after me; I destroyed him, and he tried to kill me.

As another wave of heat and buzzing pain washed over me again, I cringed, moaned, and let my hand grip at the armour on the ghoul's chest. I felt myself shake a bit, and that's when the ghoul knelt down on the ground and laid me out on the dry earth. I hurt so much—not from the broken bones and bruises, but from the radiation poisoning. I felt it wash over me like hot oil, sending painful shocks and vibrations through my body second after second. I don't know how long I lay there before I opened my eyes, but as soon as I did, I could slowly feel the pain soften as it was replaced by shock, relief, and joy.

Sunrise was approaching, but it offered enough light for my blurry eyes to see his familiar face. I saw a look on his features I'd never seen before. Worry, perhaps, but I couldn't tell. I was so preoccupied with trying to disprove myself that the man hovering over me wasn't Charon that his expression wasn't imperative to me. I peered up at him for several moments, and I felt a genuine smile spread across my lips. I rarely smiled, and even though the pain was still there, I was just so overjoyed. I thought maybe death was approaching, and I was only imagining that things had gone well, that I hadn't burned his contract, that he'd been by my side all along. Perhaps he was. Seeing him made me feel something indescribable, like I was at peace for the first time since I'd left the Vault. Charon really was beside me, he came for me.

The pain started to increase more than it had before, but I managed not to let it show. The smile was stolen from my face, however, and I started to feel like the world was getting smaller.

"Charon," I managed, my voice breaking. I saw him lean closer to me, and he said something, but I didn't hear it. I wished we had more time. I never even told him my name.

* * *

Her eyes kind of half closed, and her head tilted to the side. It didn't sink in right away, and I leaned over her, grasping her shoulders and calling out to her. I think I already knew that she was gone, but I didn't want to accept that. I kept shaking her, calling out "kid" every now and again, but she didn't wake up. I stayed kneeling in the dirt for a long time, but I don't know how long that was. I was staring into space just over her shoulder, not thinking. I didn't feel like this when I found out Schafer'd been killed. Then again, I don't think Schafer was as important to me as she was, to be honest. I closed her eyes.

The sun was starting to get higher, and I picked her up again. I didn't know where I was going to take her, or why, but I started north. Her head didn't rest against my chest again, this time it hung back over my arm, her hair hanging towards the ground.

I remembered someone in Megaton mentioning that Vault 101 was slightly north, right beside Springvale. I carried her all the way there, and no one near the town was there to threaten me. I climbed the hill near Springvale, and I found the shack door to the cave without any problem. For some reason, I thought that's where she belonged.

I laid her down in front of the Vault door, staying next to her for a while. I felt like I should have left something behind, but I didn't have anything but a few caps in my pocket. I don't know why I did it, but I left a cap on her lips. Whoever was living in the Vault wasn't likely to open it anytime soon, but I guess it didn't matter if they did. I stood and left her behind after a few minutes. I didn't look at her face before I left; I didn't think I could, but I wish I did.

It was high noon when I left the cave, and I wandered back into Springvale. I headed back toward that house where we'd hidden for the night, not so much as looking up to see where I was going. When I got there, I climbed through the broken boards again, and stood in the entrance for a while. I was looking to that spot against the wall by the couch, remembering how she looked when she slept there. After a while, I sat there, leaning up against the wall and propping my arms up by my knees. I didn't know how else to grieve.

The kid and I were opposites, but I supposed we had a lot in common. Our lives didn't seem like they could fit together, but all I could imagine when I thought about my future was following her around, helping her find her dad. She didn't hold my contract anymore, but it didn't matter. I just wanted to be there when she finally found what she was looking for.

This sounds so weak, but she saved me. Every way a ghoul like me could be saved, I guess. I spent a lot of time thinking about everything that happened, and how quickly it did happen. It felt like I'd spent a lot more time with her, like we'd done so much more, but... she was gone pretty quickly. I don't know if this is right or not, but she probably showed me how to live. I wasn't going to be the same hard ass anymore—not the same way I was before, anyway—but I was grateful for that. I wish she didn't die, though.


	15. Confessions

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Fifteen: Confessions

I started traveling all the way to Underworld again. I had no other place to go, and I suppose I wanted answers. There was that heavy pain in my chest still, but now that it'd worn off a bit, I was fucking pissed. I remembered all too easily that someone sent out a bounty on Gob's head and mine, double crossing the kid. Of course, going back there might've been a death wish, but I didn't really care at that point. I never really cared much about death, as long as I was following orders. I didn't have anymore orders to follow, though; she destroyed the contract. After she did that, all I could think of doing was following her around, helping her out, but I'd failed at that, too. Now I felt like some rabid dog without a leash, and I was going to paint the town red with whoever got in my way. I was hoping I might find some restraint by the time I got to Underworld.

Unlike the past week or so in the Wastes, there was a lot of Wasteland trash in my way this time. Not anyone from Paradise Falls, Talon merc companies, or Megaton, but a lot of over-grown mutated Wasteland shits that anyone could find prowling around the ruins for food. I didn't have much trouble taking them down. In fact, it was easing to have something to shoot holes through. It sounds a little sadistic, but killing things got my mind off of the way her face looked, the way her body shivered, and the way she muttered my name before she died. I'd never dealt with any sort of pain besides the physical kind before, so I found myself at a loss, I guess. She died right in front of me. I'd seen a few people die in my time, but none of them bothered me like her death did. A radscorpion came scuttling out of the bushes, and I gladly blew it to pieces with my shotgun. It was like a bad jet addiction, I suppose; kill things for a split second of relief.

After a couple of hours, I found my way back towards that shallow part in the Potomac, keeping clear of the Citadel. I walked right by the Jefferson Memorial, trying to ignore it. I didn't want to remember what happened there, I didn't want to be reminded of who I'd lost.

I followed the bank of the river, finding my way towards an old aircraft carrier that looked torn in two. I remembered Schafer talking about that place a long time ago—it was most likely Rivet City. I'd never been there, but I heard enough about it to know I probably wouldn't be welcome. A long docking bridge stretched from the bank to the deck of the boat, and about a hundred or so yards away from the platform was a metro station. I went down into it, passing by hordes and hordes of feral ghouls. Like they had when I traveled with Gob, none of them came near me. I could feel them all watching me, though. We were one in the same. It made me think that even if that kid had survived, we wouldn't fit. I liked to imagine that she'd hang around, but... I was getting off track again. The temptation to shoot one of the feral bastards came across my mind, but I decided otherwise. That wasn't polite.

After a few aggravating trips through some tunnels, I found myself in the mall. The Washington Monument was far off in the distance, so I knew I'd be clear of any attacks from the Brotherhood. The moment I spotted the Museum of History, though, I felt myself getting angry again. I hadn't even been close to the place since she took me away from there. Maybe there was residue of anger form being with Ahzrukhal for so long, but I found I had to take a couple of seconds before I could start walking towards it. There were a couple of super mutants who watched me from their trenches, keeping their distance. I was probably storming a little angrily with my shotgun gripped hard between my hands, so I wouldn't have looked like the most friendly ghoul to confront. Not that ghouls were happy campers to begin with.

When I got close to the museum's entrance, I could see Willow standing beside the escalator down, her arms folded across her chest. When I got closer, her arms uncrossed, and she stepped towards me, calling out to me.

"Didn't think I'd be seeing you around here anytime soon," she said in her scratchy voice, giving me a cocked grin. I put my shotgun away, but when I got closer to her, I pulled my knife from my belt. She didn't see it until I was two feet away from her, pressing it against her throat and pushing her over the cement median that lined the escalators. Her hand grabbed at my wrist, and she attempted to break free, but she couldn't manage. I briefly thought that the kid might've been able to break that hold, but I pushed the idea away when I shook Willow, growling down at her.

"Who hired the talon company?" I asked angrily. If anyone were to see us from across the courtyard, they might've thought we were doing something different. I was pressed up against her, and in any other situation, I wouldn't have minded the closeness. But I was so fucking angry then that I didn't notice anything other than her exasperated expression and her struggling against the blade of my knife. She moved a bit more under me, and I pinned her down harder before she decided to answer.

"I don't know," she breathed, closing her eyes a bit. "Charon, get the fuck off me—"

"_Who?_" I repeated, pulling her off the block onto the ground. I pinned her down with my body, pressing the knife harder under her throat. She gagged a bit as she fought for air, then opened her hollow eyes to look at me. I started to freeze—I'd been in this position before. Only, back then, it was the kid looking up at me, and there was a different feeling running through my stomach. Willow winced again, shaking her head against my grip. As much as I wanted my answers, I knew that Willow genuinely didn't know. Besides, now that she'd inadvertently reminded me of the kid, I wanted out of there, fast.

I stood up and stormed off, putting the knife away. I started to pull for my shotgun again, when Willow shouted after me: "if you so much as twitch your trigger finger in there, Charon, I'm gonna fucking blow your head off!"

I didn't doubt her threat, but I pulled my gun anyway. I needed it as a deterrent, if not a persuasion. I was going to find out who the fuck decided to bring me back with Gob on a silver platter. Initially, my first thoughts went to Carol, but I kept trying to prove myself wrong. From as far as I could tell, she was a good person, and she wouldn't be the type to go hiring the Wasteland's lowest dirt bags just to go steal us back, especially not after asking someone else to do it. With my trusty gun in my hands, I burst through the doors, then marched over to the Underworld concourse.

When I stepped into the shit hole of a town, that re-programmed Mister Gutsy, Cerberus, was already at the door, waiting for me. It had its various weapons out, but it tucked them away once I looked over. A frustrated growl came out of its vocal processor, like it was hoping I'd be someone else, and it grumbled, "g_o Underworld, go ghouls, yay..._"

"Charon," some guy muttered from across the hall, and I turned to face him. Quinn, the town trader, was standing there, and a few other rugged looking residents paused to look at me, too. They were all gawking at me like I was a yao guai, and I walked in wearing a party hat, and that only made me angrier. Everyone was surprised to see me, which means they were all expecting me to be hauled in with a bunch of armed mercs, not for me to come waltzing in solo. I started walking towards Quinn, my steps getting faster and thicker, and I grabbed him by the collar of his old dusty traveling coat, staring down into his face. A few people muttered out in shock, but he gave me this look of understanding. He knew this was coming.

"I want to know who did it," I said quietly. Everyone in the halls went silent. I could even see people poking their heads out of a few doors in the back and up the stairs. Quinn kind of looked up at me, then tightened his jaw for a minute. He didn't say anything, though. I wasn't about to threaten Quinn's life to get answers, even though I had my shotgun held in my other hand, but I let go of him to hold the gun up to his chest anyway. I didn't cock it, of course, but I could hear Cerberus's weapons come back on, and I could almost hear glee behind those turning gears. He liked killing just as much as I did. "Who did it?" I said even quieter, pausing in between my words, letting the anger sink in. Quinn still didn't say anything. He knew I wouldn't shoot, anyway, I think he was just stalling.

"Charon," Doctor Barrows said from the back of the concourse. Everyone, including me, looked back in his direction, watching him and Nurse Graves approach. As soon as I laid eyes on him, he stopped, some sort of worried expression on his face. He sighed a bit, looking around in the faces of all the other ghouls there with some annoyance, before waving me in. "Come with me."

Any other day I would've told him to go fuck himself, but it looked like I would get some answers from him. I lowered my shotgun from Quinn and walked past him like nothing happened. Once again, everyone was watching me. I felt like wherever I went, eyes were always on my back, watching me like I'd explode at any second. I didn't blame them, I guess, but I wanted to tear their throats out anyway. When I got closer to Doctor Barrows and Nurse Graves, they turned back towards rhe Chop Shop, leading me inside. The doors came shut with a loud echo. I fought my anger down. He'd give me the answers. If he didn't...

I turned to the small hospital wing, noticing the changes, things I hadn't seen when I was there the first time. There were windows lining the back that gave a view of a large open room, where a few feral ghouls wandered around, growling and howling every now and again. I remembered hearing that Barrows was researching ghoul genetics, but I didn't know he farmed them like brahmin. In between the windows on the back wall was the bed that the kid had been lying on. I could still see evidence of her blood being there, staining the white sheets permanently, but what bothered me more was the fact that someone else was lying on it. Another smoothskin. Another woman. She looked just as beaten up as the kid had been, and she was knocked out cold. I found myself watching her for a long time before Barrows broke the silence.

"We're all surprised to see you here, I can infer that much," Barrows grumbled, collapsing into his computer chair and running a hand over his patchy head, "a handful of mercs were supposed to bring you back."

"Why?" I demanded, "who the fuck sent them out?"

"Hold on," Barrows urged, throwing his hands out to try and ease me, "we want to know what you're doing back here by yourself. No master? And what about Gob?"

I really didn't want to get into any of that, even though I knew I should have told them. I started to snarl, and Graves inched back from me a bit. Barrows only shook his head.

"After you did ol' Ahzrukhal in, a lot of us were shocked, Charon," Barrows admitted, leaning back in his chair, "but none of us were going to come after you. We know how that fucker treated you over the years, and he got what was coming to him, but still... it was a bit of a mess to clean up, literally and figuratively.

"What's more, you ran out almost immediately after that. We knew that kid led you out of here, that smoothskin. Either she'd ordered you to do in your old boss, or she was guilty of something else, and didn't want to get caught. She was a nice enough girl, or so Graves vouches," he said, motioning towards her, "but no one here ever trusts a smoothskin. Hell, we didn't have to talk to you to know you hated them, too."

"We're getting off topic," I interrupted, folding my arms over my chest. I glared down at him, and he sighed again.

"Charon," he started, then faltered. "We all wanted the best for Carol, and we didn't have as much faith in that girl as she did, so..." he paused, grimacing. "Most of the town rounded together, threw in a few caps to a pot, then hired the Talon company. We thought we'd be doing you and Gob a favour."

I was dumbstruck. I think my natural reaction would have been to wait for my master to give me the go ahead to pummel Barrows, but instead, my arms pulled away from my chest, and I stood there in front of him, unmoving and silent. "So, that's how it is, then."

"Charon... we're sorry. We were just looking out for you, we thought—"

"Shut that fucking hole in your face, Barrows."

I couldn't blame them. I really did have nothing but negative thoughts for the kid the first time I saw her, no doubt they did, too. Just... everything was so fucked up. If one thing had been changed back then, if the mercs had never found her and sold her to Paradise Falls, and she never got so sick... would she be here now? I knew it would likely make a difference, but I was just so fucking angry, I wanted to blame anything and everything. A few more seconds of silence passed before Barrows spoke up again.

"Charon, what happened?"

I had a whole tale of woe to tell, but I'm a man of few words. "Gob was shot to death, the kid died of radiation poisoning. In between that, we were ambushed my mercs and slavers. All of Carol's money is gone. I came back here to straighten things." _Kill some dead beat ghouls, is more like it._

The two of them stared back at me, looking a little stunned, and I stared right back, trying to appear hard. It still hurt, saying all those things. I mean, I'm a pretty big hard ass, but I'm still human. I still feel shit, I'm entitled to that. I really don't like admitting it like that, but it was true. What happened in the last week or so really sucked for me, to say the least.

"Charon..." Graves started, then shook her head. "What do we tell Carol?" she mumbled to the side, to Barrows. He didn't move or say anything. I didn't know, either. I didn't want to be around to find out, though.

"Where are you going?" Graves asked as I moved towards the door. I could see Barrows throw a hand out to her to silence her from the corner of my eye, but she did make me pause. I was thinking of what to say, if I should say anything, when I looked back over to the operating table. That red head was lying on it neatly, with her hands folded over her stomach. She was wearing a plain tunic and pants, but I could see a bit of blood staining them here and there. I didn't see her, though, not really. All I could picture was the kid lying there, her black eyes trying to hold on to me so desperately. She'd never do that again; she was really gone this time.

I moved to open the door, and neither of them stopped me. I went through Underworld, not looking into anyone's face. I wanted to hate them all, place the blame on someone else—that would probably make things easier—but I couldn't. They were all on the same boat as me. I think Quinn tried to say something to me as I left, but I wasn't paying attention.

I walked out into the open mall again, and Willow was standing there, her assault rifle drawn. She looked me up and down, but I didn't pause. I kept walking past her. "Charon?" she called after me, but I didn't stop. "Charon, where the fuck are you going?"

I did know where I wanted to go, but I didn't say anything to Willow. It wouldn't make any sense to her. Besides, wasn't any of her fucking business.

" _I've found out where my father has gone. He went far out into the west, to Vault 112."_

At the time, I thought it was the last thing I could do for her.

* * *

"So," Gob said quietly, throwing a glance over his shoulder towards the rear, where Charon prowled behind us, a scowl on his face, "once you drop us off at Underworld, what are you gonna do?"

We were walking south along the riverbank of the Potomac, trying to find a shallow point to cross over to the other side, or, at the very least, a bridge. I considered his question for a moment, but then I shook my head. "I'm not 'dropping' you off at Underworld, Gob, I'm escorting you there."

"Fine, fine, however you want to say it," Gob said, keeping his voice low. I knew he was trying to avoid letting Charon listen in, but I had no idea why. Perhaps it was a self conscious thing, but I could be very wrong. "When you're done with us, what're you going to do next?"

_Done with _us_. _The entire point of my mission was to bring Gob home, but I didn't want to leave them behind, despite the fact that someone from Underworld specifically wanted to take him and Charon back from me by force. I may not have been welcome there, but I wanted to stay with my two companions. I couldn't imagine leaving Gob or Charon behind and going back out on my own again. No, that wasn't entirely true. My main concern with Gob's words was the implication that I was going to leave Charon behind in Underworld as well. I didn't want to part with him. I couldn't. Truth be told, the shocking appearance of his skin-rotting face and dead, rheumy eyes did not reach me, they never did. I only saw him for who he was. He and I were polar opposites in a way, and he seemed very withdrawn and not too keen on my company, but I still felt this subdued excitement in knowing that I could turn around to find him trailing behind me, watching me. It may have been because of a contract, but I felt this inevitable flutter in my chest knowing he was there.

"Maybe I'll stick around," I replied after a long moment of silence, "get some business done." I wanted to tell Gob about the mercenaries, and I was about to, but he interrupted me with another question.

"And what about him?" Gob said, motioning his head back towards Charon. I felt a strong desire to look back at him, but for some reason, I was all too aware that he'd be looking right back at me, and it made me nervous. "You gonna be glad to get him off your back?"

I shook my head shortly, yet quickly. "No."

"Huh?"

"I'll keep him." _That sounds horrible,_ I thought to myself. I scoffed at my own words, and corrected my sentence. "I'll ask him to stay around."

"Asking him is pointless. Of course he's gonna stick around, as long as you've got that contract. I just thought you two didn't get along much—he doesn't get along with anybody."

"I know," I said quietly, daring to turn my head towards Charon's direction. I never fully looked over, though. "but I really enjoy being around Charon. I do."

Gob didn't say anything, and I eventually looked at him sideways. He was giving me this suspicious look out of the corner of his eye, but there was this look on his face that was almost teasing. I felt my cheeks flare, and embarrassment washed over me. I wanted to pretend that he couldn't read me, just like Charon didn't seem to be able to, but there was something in his eyes... what was he thinking?

"I never knew a smoothskin could make friends with ghouls, especially that one," Gob said with amusement. "If I were crazy, though... I'd say you've got a soft spot for the bastard, Stella."

I looked away, trying to shake my head and try to disprove his theory. No, I didn't think of Charon like that... did I? I never thought of any man like that. As I let Gob's accusation sink in, I realized it was true. I don't know why, or even how, but I liked Charon's company more than I would have enjoyed a friend's. To know that he was following closely behind me was thrilling, but unnerving at the same time, like it sent butterflies flying through my body. I could remember the feeling of my hand on his chest, the way he brushed my hair away from my neck when he took off the slave collar, the way I felt when his eyes were on mine. After a few seconds, I realized that I hadn't prepared a rebuttal for Gob, and instead, I was smiling. I wiped the expression off my face the moment I felt it—I rarely smiled, and I almost felt guilty to be doing so now. Gob had seen it, though; I wasn't quick enough. He was giving me this look of confusion and uncertainty. Perhaps he was finding it strange how a smoothskin could ever be involved with a ghoul. It did seem strange, but I never really saw ghouls from humans. I saw only people. Maybe, even from day one, I had seen Charon for who he was, too—a man who had lived his entire life trapped in his own cage, and needed to get out. I only hoped I could help him.

Charon and I weren't two of a kind, but at least I felt happiness in knowing that I could travel the Wastes with him forever. It sounded like a ludicrous fantasy, a childish one at that, but I felt a small smile growing on my lips again when I pictured us side by side. In another brief fantasy of mine, he wanted the same thing.


	16. Vindicated

_Notes: I do not own Bethesda Games or any of its affiliates. Consider this note as a disclaimer to the characters/ideas presented in this story. _

Chapter Sixteen: Vindicate(d)

It took about a damned week, but I eventually found Smith Casey's Garage, which sat on top of Vault 112 as a cover. It took me a long time to figure out how to open the huge door, too. At least it was well hidden from all the Wasteland assholes that might want to poke their nose around, and in turn, it made it clean, too clean. It was like the fresh, never been used, still-smells-like-disinfectant clean.

To boot, there was no one there. A couple of robobrains, but not one person. At least, not one person in sight. Eventually I found them. It was a little fucked up, to say the least; there were a handful of people laying in pods that surrounded a mainframe that stretched from floor to ceiling in this huge atrium. I looked into each of them, and all of them had men and women that looked far past their expiry date. All except one. There was this middle aged looking guy sitting in one of the pods, his eyes glued to the monitor like all the rest, but he was dirty, unlike them, and he had a small "101" stamped to his chest.

I'd found the kid's dad, but... what the fuck else was I supposed to do?

I stayed there for a long time, just leaning up against the glass. It looked like he was out of commission, maybe being brainwashed. So, I went through my options: one, I could shatter the glass with a couple of shots from my shotgun and pull him out; two, I could mess with the millions of wires on the back of the pod; or three, I could shut off the power for the entire vault. The only problem was that all of those options were likely to end in me killing the kid's dad, so I couldn't act on any of them. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't help but look over the guy's face, realizing the kid was right—she looked nothing like him.

After I laid the kid down by Vault 101, I spent hours in that shack in Springvale. I spent longer there in Vault 112, leaning against the old guy's pod, just hoping a solution would fall into my lap. I felt like saving this guy would be my redeeming factor, like compensation for not being able to save her. Maybe I didn't deserve redeeming. There really was dick all I could do.

I eventually peeled myself away from the pod and left the place. I didn't know where I was going this time. All I wanted to do was stay behind and sit by that pod until it opened by itself. Maybe I'd stay in hiding for a couple of months, at least until the heat over my head cooled down, until people stopped caring to look for me. Hell, I wouldn't have minded if one of them ran into me, so that we could have a fire match. It would at least take my mind off the fact that I'd fucked up.

I have to be careful of what I wish for, though.

I don't know how long I'd been wandering, but I must have been pretty close to Megaton. It was morning again, so it told me that I'd spent the night sitting next to that guy's pod. I was watching my feet, absentmindedly noticing how my shadow stretched across the ground, trying to get away from me, when I first heard Jericho.

"There you are, you zombie fuck."

I stopped in my tracks and straightened, staring straight ahead. I could see four guys standing to my right. They flanked me. They fucking _flanked me_. I must've really been out of it, otherwise I would have seen them coming for miles. I slowly turned toward Jericho and his jockeys. There were fewer of them than the first night I saw them crawling around the desert. While Jericho and two of his buddies looked suited to be hands for hire, the third guy was dressed in a jump suit made for mechanics and repairmen. He held this shifty looking hunting rifle in his hands, and I knew he'd been scraped off the bottom of the barrel by Moriarty. The old coot was getting desperate to find me, I suppose, trying to paste together any sort of team to hunt me down. I could tell that old guy in the blue suit did not want to be there, by any means. I felt like I had an upper hand, then. Sure, there were four of them and one of me, but I was a fucking surgeon with a shotgun, and I was bigger, too.

"Been a while," I muttered distastefully.

"Where's your freak show?" Jericho said, slowly turning from side to side, squinting into the distance. He was trying to mock me, but I thought he looked like a fucking clown. "you run away from them, too?"

"Is it blood or service that Moriarty wants out of me?" I asked, ignoring his bantering and folding my arms over my chest. I was hoping to speed the process along, because I was starting to remember, standing there in front of a bunch of goons with guns, that I really hated people.

"Shut the fuck up, Charon," Jericho blathered, waving his assault rifle in the air. The others shifted their guns in their arms, taking aim at me. I almost laughed watching the mechanic struggle.

Jericho recovered, though, giving me a sloppy grin. "You know, ever since you showed your ugly mug in my town, I've wanted the chance to kick your ass."

"My boot print still in your ass?"

His face fell into a scowl, and he shifted his grip on the gun again. "You're coming with us, or I blow your brains all over the dirt. Now, either drop the shotgun, or make your move."

I gave him this blank stare for a couple of seconds before I held my hands out in front of me, trying to ease them up. Then, I reached behind me, pulled my shotgun from its hold on my back, and held it out in front of me with one hand. My scowl turned into this shit eating grin as I lightly tossed the gun forward, towards Jericho.

'Course, I was never one to keep the safety on.

The shotgun landed in the dirt, and a loud _bang_ rang out as a round of lead ripped through Jericho's legs. He shouted, tripping backwards and holding his gun in the air, firing off a couple of shots as he fell on his ass. The other three were caught off guard—the two armoured guys looked to their wounded comrade, while the mechanic just kind of stared at me with wide eyes, his wiry hands holding the rifle loosely while his knees shook. Man, this group really didn't know how to function.

Before anyone else could react properly, I pulled my knife, charging the guy closest to me. I came at him from his side, so he would have seen me, but I was too quick for him to retaliate. My arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him towards me before I sliced his neck. The other armoured guy turned towards me once about half a pint of blood had spilled from his pal's neck, and I pushed the dying dick towards the other, catching him off guard. The corpse I shoved flew into the other guy, and they looked like they were dancing for a bit as the second guy tried to fight against the dead weight that pushed him down. All the while, Jericho was flailing on the ground, his gun lying a few feet away from him, and the old guy stood behind me, presumably still shaking in his boots. I stood, watching the other merc scuttle around with the body for a bit, before he finally tossed it to the ground and faced me. Too late for him, though; I already had my target.

My combat knife was old, but it was still trusty. Not to mention I had a wicked throwing arm. I pinched the blade of my knife between my thumb and forefinger, and I launched it towards the guy's head. It twirled around in the air, creating a thin sounding swiping noise before the tip of the blade planted itself in the guy's forehead. He wasn't dead, but he was shocked shitless. He screamed (like a girl, in my opinion) dropping his assault rifle and clutching the end of the knife with both hands. Like Jericho, he tripped backward over his own feet, and landed heavily on his back, squirming around, begging, "get it out, get it ooout!"

I turned on the spot, and faced the last guy. He still looked like he'd witnessed the Second Coming, and he was still holding his gun in that ridiculous way. The screams and groans of the two behind us added to the scene in front of me, and no matter how sadistic it may seem, I found it fucking hilarious. I noticed that the old man had lifted his rifle towards me though, but I didn't move. He pulled the trigger, and nothing happened.

"You have to cock the gun first," I said, stepping toward him. He cowered like a wounded animal, and I pointed to the lever on the back of the gun. "it's what loads the ammunition into the barrel."

With that, I plucked the gun from his hands, and swiped the butt end in an upper cut under his chin. He went airbourne for just a split second before he landed in the dirt, out cold. It was personally satisfying, but a little pathetic to see at the same time. I turned and walked back to where Jericho still lay writhing, his moans and groans being the only noise. The other guy couldn't have possibly died—he probably just passed out from the shock of having a knife sticking out of his head. I could see him lying on his back in the dirt with the knife standing out of his forehead, actually, and I noticed that he looked a lot like one of the animals Id seen in a pre-war poster. Schafer called it a unicorn.

I stood over Jericho, and he flinched the moment my silhouette covered him. "Fucking dick!" he growled, his voice thick with anger. He obviously didn't appreciate me blowing out his shins. "I'll fucking get you!"

"Hm," I grumbled in response. "Keep me on my toes."

I moved to pick up my shotgun, then I stepped over to where his assault rifle lay, and I stomped on it a couple of times, breaking it up. "Crawl back to Moriarty, if you can," I said over my shoulder, "and tell him I'll be waiting, as long as he can dish it out."

Not much of a resolution, but an ease off the pressure, I suppose. I can't tell you how much better I felt fighting, how much lighter my load seemed to be. In the back of my mind, though, I felt more guilty than I ever had. I don't think I wanted to feel better about her dying—not then, not for a long time.

"You're fucking dead, Charon!"

I'd heard that one before.

* * *

I wandered around aimlessly in the metro tunnels for about a week before I found the old abandoned raider house. There was a pool table, a generous supply of booze, food, and ammo, and a working radio. It only got Galaxy News, but that's all I needed, I guess. I could remember having to listen to his broadcasts for the last five years with Ahzrukhal, and it kind of made me insane, but I found myself hanging off of Three Dog's every word once in a while. He really was interesting to listen to from time to time.

"_Good evening, Children,"_ he started, and I rolled my eyes, growling. I hated the way he started his extravagant speeches. I kept working on my shotgun, but I listened to him anyway.

"_I've got an interesting opportunity for you adventurous types out there. Remember me talking about that cool cat James from Vault 101 a couple months back? Well, turns out, he's gone missing."_

I think I stopped working at that point, but I didn't absorb the words right away. I was staring off into space, letting the words hit me like a bag of bricks. Vault 101. Was it _him_?

"_Apparently, James went to go visit Doctor Li of Rivet City, had a little argument, then left. She hasn't seen him since, and she has her feathers all ruffled over it. She's asking _you_, that's right, you, to go out and find her dear old friend._

"_Now, don't pass up the opportunity so quickly; this isn't all complete charity on your part. No, no. Doctor Li requested that I relay her offer on the air, and also to inform you that a hefty sum of caps will be waiting for you if you find James's whereabouts. That being said, he should be pretty easy to spot if he's still got that Vault 101 suit on him._

"_And now, some music..."_

I don't know what song played next; I stopped paying attention. I hadn't put much thought to the kid's dad since I had the skirmish with Jericho. For the past week, though, I'd found it hard not to think about her. I missed her, for lack of a more manlier, harder-than-steel term. The shotgun was in two in my lap, but I moved it onto the floor anyway. I kind of just sat there for a second, letting the thoughts pound down on me like a waterfall. It was almost like the feeling of being pulled into that dark hell hole in my mind, but it wasn't as painful. There was just a lot going through my mind.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if there was anything I _could_ do. For a while, it seemed I was set on self wallowing for another week, just sitting there, letting my thoughts take me over. Eventually, though, I got up and left the place. It took me a while to decide what I wanted to do, but the right idea came to mind when I stumbled across a trader's trail.

They were loud, not too stealthy; I wasn't sure how often the caravan must have been attacked by raiders or super mutants, but at least one body guard was there. It was mostly the brahmin's fault, in my opinion. Supplies clattered on the thing's hide as it waddled forward along the river bank. Even though they weren't likely to hear me catch up, I picked a slow enough pace, but not slow enough to look suspicious. I had a scrawled note in my hand (written with patchy charcoal) and I gripped it firmly, like I was worried the wind would blow it away. When I was about twenty feet behind them, the body guard slowed in her step, then she turned on me fast, pointing two shaved off barrels of a shotgun towards me. I was at a safe enough distance not to be killed by a shot, but I was still careful. The merchant turned around after the guard's gun was pulled, yanking on the brahmin's reign to slow it down, looking back at me with wide eyes.

I stopped, obviously, and I held my hands out a bit. The guard didn't like that, though. "Back the fuck off, zombie!" she shouted after me, and I grunted to myself. I shouldn't have expected anything more from her, but I guess I'd gotten too used to friendly company, too used to not being called a zombie or anything of the like. I let my arms fall to my sides again, then tried to step forward. The guard blew off a shell to the side.

"I said, _get lost!_"

I should've known this was a shitty plan. Why did I think I could do business with some caravan? Maybe it was because of Quinn and Barrows, back in Underworld; they dealt with others a lot, including merchants and drug farmers. I thought everyone was itching for some caps. Mind you, I didn't really have a lot of caps, but I thought I could improvise.

"You've got to the count of five, asshole," the woman called after me. I was at a bit of a distance, but I could still study her. She was a little older, maybe in her mind thirties, with messy blonde hair pulled back in a bun and pale skin that had a tint to it (or a permanent layer of dirt). She had mean looking armour on, and I could see evidence of death and doom all over it. I might've been able to take on Jericho and his lousy cronies, but I'd have a bit more than trouble dealing with her.

She reminded me of the kid—tough, no nonsense attitude. I think I sighed. No matter what the fuck I did, I somehow found myself going back to her. So, I just raised my hands again, then tossed the note to the ground. I turned on my heel, then went back the way I came. Maybe I could go back to the metro tunnels, keep my ear planted to the radio, waiting to hear if anything happened. I didn't want to do that, though. I wanted desperately to just hang around, wait to see if they picked up that note, wait to see if they brought it to the right person.

The reason why I wanted to stay behind was because making sure the kid's last "mission", if that's what you'd call it, was finished; it was all I could do to feel normal. It was the only thing I could think of doing, the only thing left I wanted to do. It was like she was still there with me when I did shit like that, in a way. No contract, no purpose left in life, all I was left with was her shadow. She never asked me to do it, but that wouldn't have changed the fact that I would. She was really the only friend I'd ever had, ever would have.

After I'd walked over the hill of the bank, I moved in between two buildings to my right, pressing my back to the wall and sliding down. I sat with my head hung low for about a minute or two before I peered around the corner, looking to the place where I'd dropped the note. It was down a slight hill, but it gave me a clear vantage point, without risk of being seen. I could see the body guard walk up to it, the trader a few paces behind her. She picked it up, and I felt a brief wave of relief go over me. She turned the crumpled paper over in her hands for a couple of seconds before she opened it. I knew then that things would turn out after that. I was too far away to see her then, but I swear I could see prospects glitter in her eyes as she read over my dirty scrabble.

_Doctor Li: he's in Vault 112._


	17. Astrophel

_Note: Considering this is the last entry, I thought I'd goof around a bit, but I got nervous. I don't own Bethesda or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer for the **CANON CHARACTERS.**_ _Oh, okay, so I couldn't help but goof around a bit. Caps make everything funnier._

_A long winded Author's Note: Stella is based off of a woman named Penelope Devereux, or Penelope Rich (I LOVE that name—Penny Rich). She was described as having platinum blonde hair and black eyes. As far as I could tell, too, she was a hard ass, and was the muse for Sir Philip Sydney's _Astrophel and Stella_ (supposedly—it was never formally declared, but it's pretty damn obvious). Look them up on Wikipedia, if you're interested!_

_And thanks to all of you who read this story all the way through and enjoyed it. I write to please myself, but it's a big bonus when other's enjoy it, too._

Chapter Seventeen: Astrophel

I was making my usual rounds again, my shotgun held firmly in my grasp, but low enough not to intimidate the other scientists, should they happen to walk by. None of them liked me, not even the kid's dad, not since I showed up. A lot of them tried to chase me away with scalpels and syringes, but after a while, they figured out I was just fucking crazy, because I _wanted_ to hang around and protect them while they were there, so they stopped. That being said, everyone avoided me and still treated me like the plague, but they let me be. Them coming at me was like a mole rat trying to ambush a yao guai with bared teeth and lasers for eyes. In any case, I didn't exactly tell them why I was there. No one seemed keen on asking, either. I think I heard their supervisor, Doctor Li (who turned out to be an utter _bitch_), arguing with James to hire someone to chase me off, but no one ever did anything about it. No, they were stuck with me.

It was about a month back that I'd heard James had been found. The trader who dropped off the information accepted the reward (which was enough to retire three times over) had helped in the rescue team. From what I heard, a lot of mercenaries and Wastelanders went out to try and save James. Someone out there must've known more about computers than I did, because they got him out okay. After that, Three Dog spread the word that Doctor Li and James planned to go back and start up a long lost project. He didn't say where, but he didn't need to. I knew all too well where they'd gone. Call me fucking loopy, but the moment I heard, I set out for Jefferson Memorial again. I knew all too well that they'd try to kill me, that I'd be less welcome than a brahmin at a tea party, but I felt this vague drive that was almost like how an order felt with my contract. I couldn't do anything to stop it, it seemed like. Going to the memorial to protect her dad was bringing me back to her again. I felt that it was my only purpose. It probably was.

I could remember the first time I showed up at the memorial. Everyone _freaked_. They assumed I was there to kill them, and I suppose it was smart to do so, but all of them were repulsed. I thought that being scientists would make them more open minded, but they all hated ghouls just like every other fucker. James even gave me that look that said he was disgusted with the idea of me, but he still asked me to leave nicely. I recognized his proper speech from his daughter.

"Please, there's no need for trouble here," he told me, a legion of men and women in lab coats standing behind him, "we ask that you leave immediately so that we might continue our work."

"Need protection?" I offered.

They looked at me funny. Well, funnier than the queer looks they were all giving me to begin with. "No, the only thing we need is for you to leave."

I never did, though. I didn't care if he was lying through his teeth about not needing a body guard. They thought I was clear of the memorial, but someone would find me wandering around the facility here or there. I staved off a couple of lame attacks, and then they started to slow. They resorted to just giving me dirty looks and shaking their heads whenever they saw me, but I knew that they were the slightest bit grateful for me keeping the super mutants at bay. A handful of them had tried more than once to take the memorial from the scientists. There was a growing pile of super mutant bodies on the front lawn, but no one seemed to mind. If they did, they weren't eager to ask me to clean it up. That would mean accepting the fact that I was there to stay.

I was walking through the gift shop again when I heard someone coming up behind me. It was a surprise—it was late at night, and everyone was usually asleep by now, not to mention no one ever approached me if they could help it. I kept my pace though, stopping only when I came to the door that led to the front hallway. I kept from turning around right away, though. I was waiting for those footsteps to get closer. It was likely a man from the sounds of the boots padding across the floor, because most of the women in the place wore high heels. I couldn't tell if the guy would try slicing my throat or not, though. Probably not, given that they'd stopped that tirade. I waited patiently before turning back around again. James stopped in his tracks, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his lab coat.

"Hello, there."

"Evening."

When he kept staring at me in silence, I started to move forward again, inching over a bit to pass him. After I breezed by, I could hear James take in a breath to say something, and I paused.

"I wanted to apologize," he said in his smooth voice. I turned around to face him, and he was turned halfway towards me, his eyes downcast. "I won't pretend that your services here have been appropriately appreciated. We haven't exactly treated you with proper hospitality and respect."

I shrugged slightly, but didn't give a response. Actually, his apology or gratitude didn't really matter to me. As long as I could watch over his back and make sure he was all right, I was content. I stood around, waiting to see if he had anything more to say (which I thought was unusually polite for me), because he seemed to hesitate a lot. I must've given him some sort of pressuring stare, because he eventually muttered, "sorry," then asked quickly: "why are you doing this?"

I'd wondered how long it would take before anyone had the balls to actually ask me that. Now that he'd put the question out in the open, though, I didn't know how to respond. I had the answer to give him right there, but I didn't want to. It would open a whole new can of worms. How do you tell someone that you were affiliated with his late daughter?

I hesitated, too, so he continued. "I suppose I've been extremely short sighted," he said with a bitter smile, shaking his head. "I always taught my daughter to be accepting of others, and... the first time I saw you, I have to admit, I was very prejudiced."

I didn't blame him; ghouls didn't have the friendliest of faces. But when he mentioned the kid, I felt like I was trapped. A moment of surprise came over me, if that's what you could call it, and I stood there, just as quiet as he was. He gave me this weak smile—almost like the kid's, too—then looked to the floor.

"I'm very grateful for what you've done, but I have nothing to offer, if that's what you're after."

"No." I was trying to avoid the initial question, and he was making it easier for me.

He laughed shortly, looking back up at me. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude. We haven't been properly introduced yet. My name is James," he said, sticking out his hand.

I almost said, "I know," but I kept it to myself. He didn't know that I was the one to find him in Vault 112, cooped up in some weird computer. Anyway, I looked at his hand hanging there in space, a little caught off guard. I rarely shook hands, let alone with humans. James would probably hate the feel of my skin on his, but I didn't want to be rude and leave him hanging, either. I reached out, shook his hand, and muttered, "Charon."

"Charon?" he repeated, "is that your birth name?"

Coming from anyone else, I would've thought him a rude ass, but I could hear the genuine curiosity in his voice; he wasn't trying to piss me off. "No," I replied, "people started calling me that after I changed. I was Scavo before."

"Interesting," he said, rubbing his chin. "I think its pre-war origins were Italian. I'm not exactly sure what it would mean, though."

I shrugged. "Slave, probably."

"Why would you say that?"

"Long story."

At that point, I'd spoken more words together since I left Jericho behind in the dust. It made me briefly think over my various Wasteland enemies, wondering if they were still coming after me, whether any of them were still alive or in any condition to do me in. If they were, they probably wouldn't come for me for a long time, not to Jefferson Memorial. I wouldn't be expected there.

James didn't probe me for more about my past; instead he just nodded. He looked to my armour and my shotgun again, then back at me. "So, you've done this sort of thing your whole life, is that it?"

"More or less." I was surprised to realize I wasn't eager to get back to patrolling. Talking with the old guy wasn't so bad.

"Then why here?"

I looked at him hard for a while, once again trying to decide what exactly to tell him. "Your daughter asked me to."

She hadn't really, but it was a lot safer to say than "I knew your daughter". That would imply a whole lot of things that were true, a whole lot of things I didn't want to say. I was watching him intently, and he blinked a few times, his smile faltering.

"My... daughter?"

"Blonde hair, black eyes?"

"Yes, that's her, but... she was supposed to be in Vault 101; I left her there to keep her safe... why did she leave? Do you know?"

Ah, right. He didn't know the whole drama. "She was chased out."

He kind of grimaced, then looked to the side. "Damn!" he muttered under his breath, bringing a hand to his face. "I should have known... but, why did she ask you to do this?" he asked, looking back at me, "where is she now?"

Fucking hell. I fought with myself for a couple of seconds before I mustered: "I don't know."

He shook his head slowly, sadly. "How can she be out there on her own?"

I pictured her laying there in front of the Vault door, a cap over her mouth. Her skin was so pale, it almost glowed in the dark. I wanted to stroke her face then, just to feel her skin one more time. "She's pretty tough," I offered, "she was holding her own last time I saw her."

James nodded, but he didn't look convinced. "Dammit... I want to go after her, but... I know it sounds selfish, but I can't leave the project again, else it will fall apart a second time."

It's a good thing he didn't want to go after her, or else I'd have to explain why I was really there, I'd have to tell him she was dead. Instead, my mouth opened before I could consider the weight of what I was about to say.

"She asked me to watch out for you, because she might not come back."

He gave me another look that spoke volumes, although this face wore surprise and disbelief. "What?"

"She was headed out west when we last spoke," I lied, "and she wasn't sure when she'd come home."

He gave me this pained expression. I might as well have told him she'd died, he looked so crushed. There was just no way I could bring myself to give him the truth; it would mean I'd have to live it all over again, too.

"She's gone, then," he said quietly, heavily. "It's unexpected, but... as long as she's happy, as long as she's safe."

I just nodded.

"How was it that you crossed paths, then?"

I paused again. "I was in a bind, and she helped me out of it. After that, we escorted a friend home."

"And that's when she left?"

"Yeah."

James nodded and looked away from me, a fist pressed underneath his mouth. "Were you two relatively close?"

I was hesitating again, running the words through my mind. "Yeah, I guess we were."

He gave a short chuckle, then started laughing. "You know, I'd argued to her forever about befriending people, but she was never interested. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm surprised it was you who she chose as a companion."

I laughed in return. The sound was a little odd—I don't think I laughed aloud, ever. I couldn't recall laughing once... "I am, too."

"Well, Charon," James said, though I could still hear the disappointment from the bad news weighing down his voice, "thank you again for your protection. And... thank you for reaching out to my daughter. I'm sure I appreciate it just as much as she did, if not more."

"You're welcome," would have been an appropriate response, but I just nodded once again. I wasn't one for exchanging of manners—I was used to people just telling me what to do my entire life.

"Well... to be honest with you, I've been wanting to ask you that for days, and tonight I simply couldn't sleep until I got that off my chest," he admitted, giving me a sheepish grin. "I'm sorry to interrupt your rounds."

"It's fine."

"Charon," he said, "it's been a pleasure."

"Yeah."

He walked past me, giving me a friendly smile before disappearing in the shadows between light fixtures. I saw him open the door to the subbasement and slip inside silently, closing the door gently behind him. Honestly, I was starting to like the guy.

I wondered about our conversation, though; I wondered if I'd ever tell him the truth about _her_. I didn't think it'd be possible anytime soon, but if the old man let me hang around him for a while, I'd eventually tell him. There was guilt fishing around in my head. It started to seep back into loss. I suddenly wasn't interested in doing my fucking pointless patrol of the empty hallways anymore (I never found anything inside the memorial, anyway), so I walked through the hallway towards the door that led to the outside.

Luckily for me, the lawn on that side of the memorial had only two super mutant bodies littering the grass, and they were far off, so I didn't have to look at them. I stood in the cool night air for a while, just breathing deep, trying to get the fresh air through my lungs. I was starting to feel a little better.

After a while, I started feeling... oh, I don't know, sentimental is probably the best word, and I looked up to the sky. It was clear with just a sliver of moonlight, and I could see a shit load of stars. I'd never given them that much thought before; I never did have much interest in stars, considering I'd spent the last fifteen years of my life cooped up in a bar. When I stepped outside, my memories of her were starting to go away again, but I found them resurfacing just looking up at the sky. They weren't painful this time, though, they were easier to deal with. Contenting, even. I kicked myself mentally for thinking this, but I wondered if she could still see the stars, wherever she was now. I always did think she was one for star gazing. I suppose it didn't hurt to admit it to myself that I hoped she could.

* * *

When I was younger, my father always used to tell me that people before the war would look to the stars and make wishes upon them. I told him I thought it was ridiculous, but... even after all of the horrible things I'd seen in the Wasteland, the stars at night always calmed me. I did say I thought it was ridiculous, but I think I understood; in a world this ugly, people need something simply captivating in beauty to instill hope in them.


End file.
